And Still I Rise
by Pachamama9
Summary: After John leaves for a hunt and doesn't come back, the Winchester boys are forced to fend for themselves.
1. Pilot

**A/N: This is my first _Supernatural_ fic, and I hope you all like it. It's based kind of on the show, kind of not. You'll see, I guess. The first chapter is based on the amazing fic by el spirito, Getting By, but the rest of it is mine. Each chapter will be named after different episodes of _Supernatural_ that pertain to what's happening in the story at the time. I'll try to update as often as I can.**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #627 (Broken Road)**

 **Disclaimer: All this Supernatural beauty belongs to the writers, not me.**

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Dean wouldn't say it to Sammy, but he was terrified. Last night, his little brother had eaten the last of their bread and jam. They were out of milk as well; in fact, they had no food left in their tiny motel room. The brothers had been drinking from the sink all day, and while Dean knew from experience that Sam wouldn't complain about food until at least the second day, he didn't want him to go hungry. They still needed groceries. Dean sighed as Sammy watched television, trying to decide what to do. He didn't want to leave Sam alone, but he would never drag his brother out after dark, and they needed food for tomorrow. Finally, he made his decision. After Sam went to sleep, he snuck out of the hotel room, checking the protection sigils one last time and then closing the door behind him. He always hated leaving Sam behind; after all, it was _his_ job to take care of him and watch over him, and every second Dean was gone was a second where seven-year-old Sam was vulnerable.

He wrapped his jacket tightly around himself. It was freezing outside, snowing relentlessly, but he would never ask Dad for money to buy a winter coat. Dean was a soldier, and soldiers were never weak. Being cold… That was weakness.

There was a store several blocks away that Dean visited when they were low on food. Unfortunately, the Winchesters had been staying in this small town for the past week; they had visited the store three times already for food. Dean hated it when people recognized him because it made it more difficult for them to avoid CPS. If they saw Dean and Sam living alone at a shady motel… Dean didn't ever want to be without his little brother. They'd been through Child Protective Services once, and… Long story short, he'd hated it.

Dean only had a dollar and some change left over from their previous excursions, so this would be their last run. John had promised he would return after three days; today was the eighth without him. Through his frequent experiences with his father's neglect, Dean had learned to stretch his money, but he could only stretch it so far. The snow stinging at his cheeks, he shivered, stepping gratefully into the store. He scraped his worn, soaked shoes across the mat, not wanting to track snow through the store.

As he entered, the cashier flashed him a warm smile, his bright blue eyes glowing.

Dean ducked his head, nodding mutely. He plunged his hand into his pocket, sliding his fingers across the single bill almost lovingly. He pulled the coins out of his pocket, shielding them with his other hand and carefully counting them. $2.71. That was his budget until John came back. Biting his lip, he counted again. $2.71. Bread was two dollars and fifty cents, milk was at least three dollars and twenty-five cents, and peanut butter…

He glanced over at the cashier. The dark-haired man was organizing a small rack of candy bars by color. Dean swallowed hard. He had resorted to thievery sometimes to feed his baby brother, and it seemed like today would be another one of those desperate times. He licked his chapped lips; his stomach churned with a painful mixture of anxiety and hunger. He'd given all of the rations for the past two days to Sammy, and he was now unusually light-headed. He headed for the bread, removing the softest loaf from the shelf. That would utilize most of his money. As he walked towards the register, stepping through two more aisles along the way, he slipped a small package of peanut butter crackers into his pocket. He plucked two more items from the shelves: an energy bar and a bottle of apple juice.

"Can I help you, kid?" The cashier's blue eyes meet his green ones for a split second.

Dean quickly looked down and mumbled a barely intelligible "no" in response. He didn't want to talk to him, even though the man had been nothing but kind to Dean. When they had first entered the store, he had tossed Sam an old action figure that had previously belonged to his nephew. When Sam and Dean had entered alone for the second time, he had given Dean and Sam each a pack of Skittles after they bought jam, bread, and some lunch meat.

Now, Dean regretted the purchase of those items; the meat had burned a hole in their pockets, and now they barely had enough to provide for another meal. He shoved the bread onto the counter, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. "That it?"  
He nodded in response, dropping his crumpled bill and change next to the loaf of bread. Smiling gently, the cashier took the money from him and pushed it into the cash register. "Here's your change," he told the boy. The cashier frowned, spotting a large, dark bruise on the boy's face as the child grabbed the coins and his bread. The area around his eye was swollen and purple, yellowed at the edges. "What happened?" he asked as the boy turned to leave.

Dean ignored him. Like he was going to spill all of his secrets to a stranger. Even if he wanted to, he was too exhausted to do much more than shuffle away from the counter. He stayed up most nights watching Sammy, redoing the salt lines, and making rock salt bullets. When he went (which was rare), he barely slept at school; teachers and other students were constantly waking him. The only time he slept was in the afternoon when his brother was doing his homework.

He tightened his grasp on the plastic bag and kept walking, pulling his hood further over his head to cover the bruised section of his face. "Hey!" the cashier called out. Again, he refused to respond to the man, heading through the double doors and into the cold.

It took him a second to realize that the sudden onslaught of needles against his face was actually snow. He could barely see his fingers in front of him; he held up one arm to shield his eyes from the blizzard. His thin jacket gave him little protection from the snow, so he shivered violently, trying to stay warm by wrapping his skinny arms around his torso. The motel was only seven blocks away; Dean could make it. He staggered forwards, squinting into the blinding white. After all, he was a soldier. His father always told him to never—

Something slammed, hard and fast, into Dean's right side, throwing him backwards. His back met the window first, shattering the glass, and then his head struck a hard surface, sending his mind reeling with pain until it surged into darkness.

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 **A/N: Thanks for reading! I really appreciate everyone's support. Please follow, favorite, and review! I'll be posting the next chapter soon.**


	2. Roadkill

**A/N: In this chapter, Dean struggles through his horrible injuries and to take care of Sam.**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #652 (Food)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #144 (scarlet red)**

 **Disclaimer: This all belongs to the wonderful writers of SPN.**

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When he awoke again, he was even colder; he didn't know that was possible. He could barely feel his fingers, which scared him, but he was too preoccupied with the pain spiking through his body to think too much about it. A muffled, high-pitched sound disturbed his silence; he wished someone would turn it off. As the sound washed over him, he realized it was an alarm. The truth dawned on him; something had hit him so hard had crashed straight through a window. The screeching sound ringing in his ears was actually the burglar alarm.

Dean struggled to sit up. Every move he made was incredibly painful; he was surprised he could manage to lift his head. As he tried to straighten his back, a wave of nausea and agony overwhelmed him and he keeled over, spitting acid from his empty stomach. He could faintly hear sirens in the distance; a gruff voice in the back of his mind told him he had to get out before anyone found him. So, he spotted the loaf of a bread lying a few feet away and reached for it. Oddly enough, it remained unharmed; it must have slipped from his hand when the car hit him.

Dean had never found any task as difficult as walking back to the motel. Standing in itself was agonizing; he could barely put any weight on his right side and was constantly collapsing, disoriented and violently shaking. The cold helped to a degree, for it numbed the surface pain. The small cuts and scrapes made by the glass barely caused him suffering. His back, however, was on fire.

He staggered forth, stumbling through the parking lot to their second floor motel room. "Sa-Sam," he choked out, his left hand slapping against the door. "Sammy!"

A tired, squeaky voice answered him. "Dean?"

"Yeah," he gasped, relief washing over him. "I-it's m-m-me. Let me—" He coughed into his frozen fingers. "Let m-me in."

"What's the password?" he called out.

Dean could barely keep himself conscious, let alone remember the stupid password they had come up with earlier that night. Sam usually made his passwords around his favorite TV shows… "Opti-Opti-t-timus...P-P-Prime," he rasped.

Sam laughed. "No, silly!"

It was becoming dangerously difficult for Dean to think. "T-t-turtles… rat?"

"No…" his little brother said, his voice growing increasingly concerned. "Dean, are you… Are you okay?"

Instead of waiting for him to correctly guess the password, Sam unlocked the door and swung it open. Dean had been using the door to hold himself up, so he fell with it, collapsing before Sam's terrified eyes onto the motel room floor in an ugly pile of frigid, broken limbs.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was shaking, more frightened than he'd ever heard it. "Dean!" A hand gripped his shoulder, and icy white pain spiked through the area. "Dean, wake up!" It was so hard to breathe… "Dean, _please_!"

Dean forced his eyelids open, his hazy vision focusing on his little brother. "S'mmy…"

"What—what happened?" Sam's face was wet, covered in tears. "You were supposed to be back _ages_ ago! And you… You…"

Dean gave him a weak smile, trying not to display the amount of pain he was in. "Sor-sorry… I—I g-got you…" His fingers trembled around the plastic bag containing the loaf of bread.

Sam's face lit up at the sight of food. "Bread!" he cried, and Dean winced. "Thanks, Dean!" He took it from his older brother and tore open the plastic.

At the moment, Dean didn't mind at all; he was glad because it kept Sam alive, happy, and quiet. He pulled the other food items from the inside of his jacket. "He-here," he said, tossing them in the direction of his brother.

"Crackers?" Sam cried, ecstatic. "Juice? Wow! How'd we have enough?"

Dean touched the throbbing side of his head in response. "I-I-I…" He pulled his numb extremities before his face and discovered that they were covered in blood. He must have hit his head pretty hard… Something pinched him painfully on the back of his head, and he moaned, squeezing his eyes shut…

"Dean? Dean!" He was on the ground again, twisting to protect his injuries. "Dean!"

Suddenly aware of Sam's words, he opened his eyes, trying to compose himself, and struggled to his feet and said, "I'm g-go-gonna…t-take a b-bath…"

"You gotta eat first," Sam said.

His brother shook his head, shivering. "I-I d-d-di—" He could barely get a word out. "Al-alread-d-dy ate."

Sam, too young to recognize the lie, replied, "Okay," and bit into a peanut butter cracker. As a caring younger sibling, Sam was frightened for his brother's health, but it was not the first (and would certainly not be the last) time Dean had come back to the motel injured. Dean was an easy target for vengeful spirits and monsters, so he often returned from hunts bleeding and bruised. Sam had slowly become desensitized to the sight of his broken, hurting brother.

Holding his wounded arm to his chest and dragging his right leg like dead weight, entered the bathroom and promptly collapsed once he closed the door behind him. With his good arm, he plugged the drain up and turned on the hot water. Shivering fiercely, he stripped down and eased into the bathtub with what composure he had left. As the water lapped against his back, he whimpered; scarlet red twisted and contorted beneath the surface of the bathwater. The car had struck mostly his right side, and he traced his injuries with his fingertips, determining their respective graveness and closing his eyes whenever it seemed to be too much.

The rightmost area of his torso was swollen and red, tender to the touch. His right leg was the same, except it was deformed in a grotesque way that shocked him. His leg contained one of the worst wounds; there was a jagged gash running from his knee to his upper thigh. He followed the laceration with his hand to another one curling around his side in mimicry of the delicate arc of a rib. It ended abruptly in a deep, serrated wound with something— Dean's hand brushed against something smooth and sharp, and blood blossomed over his palm. Undeterred by the trivial pain, he grasped the object, and as he did so, he pricked his hand again. He gasped, closed his eyes, and then pulled it out in one swift motion.

Glass. He had pulled a piece of glass from his back. When he had been thrown through the window, he must have fallen onto it. He tossed it aside, and it clattered to the floor. He couldn't see the wound, but he could feel hot liquid trickling from it.

He wasn't cold anymore—the water had warmed him tremendously—but he still couldn't feel two of the fingers on his left hand, as well as one on his right. He pressed them together gingerly—still nothing. They were an odd, dark color; he didn't understand why he had lost all sensation there. However, he hardly let it bother him. He wanted to slip beneath the water and sleep for a long, long time…

He coughed, and the action pained his entire chest, sending ripples of discomfort through him. Why did everything hurt so much?

Once he could hear Sammy's soft snores from the other side of the door, he allowed himself to cry.

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 **A/N: Thanks for reading! Please follow, favorite, and review!**


	3. Crossroad Blues

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who's still reading!**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #71 (A School Bus)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #329 (Shut up)**

 **Disclaimer: SPN and its characters belong to the writers, not me.**

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"Dean? Dean!" Two tiny fists shook him. "Get up! We're gonna be late for school!"

Dean's whole body felt as though it had gone through a paper shredder. "Sure, Sammy," he mumbled, eyes still closed. "Go—go get your shoes on." His words slurred together as though he was drunk.

"I've got them on!" Dean winced at the high pitch of his voice. "I've got my jacket, too!" It sent waves of nausea through his torso and throat, and he— "Now, Dean!"

He gagged; he had nothing to throw up, so he retched only the water he'd drunk from the sink the night before. Sam jumped back, surprised. "Dean?"

"Go," Dean moaned, exhausted. "The...bus. Go." He knew he should escort his brother to the school bus, for it was his job to keep him safe, but he could barely sit up, let alone walk. "Now, Sammy!"

Sam hesitated once more before scrambling for the door as his brother began to gag again. There were spots of blood among the vomit; Dean retched and cried once Sam was gone, curling in on himself. He was so hungry… He crawled to the sink, dragging himself forwards with his hands, and drank greedily from the faucet. He immediately regretted his actions; he threw it up not two minutes later.

He coughed, and something rattled in his chest. He didn't think their situation had ever been this bad; he wished his mom were here to hold him. He missed her so much that the yearning pressed at his aching chest and climbed up his throat and—

Dean coughed and coughed and coughed until he couldn't breathe; his head pounded, throbbing with pain and hunger, until it burst at his ears, throwing him into darkness.

Dean was tired of waking up like this. Everything hurt. The hunger pangs had not faded as he had hoped; he needed food. Sammy needed food. Sam… Sammy needed food. Dean struggled to his feet, propping himself up with his shotgun. Sammy… He didn't have any money, so he knew what he had to do. Dean collapsed onto the nearest chair, gritted his teeth, and wiped away the blood trickling down the side of his head. He would do this…for Sammy.

The cashier was organizing milk jugs when Dean arrived. At first, having grown used to the sound of the opening door, he didn't notice the boy. But the hacking cough, raspy breathing, and uneven footsteps soon alerted him to the child's presence.

"Hello?" he called out. The boy had disappeared into one of the aisles, dragging his leg behind him. "Can I help you?" There was no reply. Only the sickly breathing of the boy assured the cashier that he was still there. "Do you need—"

The cashier turned into the second aisle. In between stacks of chips and candy stood the boy, Dean. He was a mess. His whole body was shaking violently, particularly his right leg, which looked awkward and crooked. His right arm matched the leg, for it was unnaturally bent as well. There were small cuts scattered all over his exposed skin, and three of his fingers were dark; was that...frostbite? The bruise on his face had mostly faded, but now the ghostly, unhealthy complexion and sleepless eyes were brutally obvious. The dark circles carved beneath each apple-green eye barely touched on the boy's suffering. He was painfully thin and hunched over as though there were an iron rod stuck between his ribs.

Most importantly, however, Dean was holding a gun. And it was pointed directly at him. "D-don't," he croaked. "I just—I—" He coughed. "Food." The gun shook dangerously in his bone-thin fingers. "I want…food."

"Kid," the cashier said carefully, taking a small step towards the injured child. He didn't know where the boy had gotten the gun, but he knew that he needed to— "Let's just put the gun down, okay? Talk about it. We can—"

"Don't _test_ me!" The shout sent him into a round of hacking that left his sleeve wet with blood. "I can… I will _shoot_ you."

"I know." The cashier raised his hands in surrender. "But I can help you. There's no need for—"

"Sh-shut up! I d-don't want your _help_! I-I-I—" Tremors rippled through the boy. He was so sick that he was _shaking_. "I want...food. Give me... _now_."

"Look, son, I don't know what's happened to you, but listen to me. I can help. I can—"

The first shot was a shock to his system. It entered his right shoulder, burning like gasoline, and tore right through him. The force of it knocked him onto his back. "Food," repeated the boy, his voice gravelly. Every time he took a breath between words seemed to worsen his condition; he wheezed, his breaths half of what they once were. "Food." The cashier was somewhat surprised that the boy had shot him, and even more so when his quiet demeanor surged into desperation. "Now!" When he didn't move, the boy's gun moved, aiming at his other arm. "I-I'll shoot you...again if I have...to."

His words were becoming so broken and ill that the cashier could barely understand him. However, he pushed himself to his feet despite the pain, clutching his shoulder to prevent further bleeding. Knowing what the boy wanted, he moved through the shelves at gunpoint, plucking out each item. He wanted to help Dean, but there was not much he could do when staring down the barrel of a gun. He handed the boy his groceries; to his surprise, he asked for nothing more. Trembling, he snatched the plastic bags, his body tensing as his broken arm reached for them. He kept the gun trained on the cashier as he left, although his aim had worsened since he arrived.

"Tell...no one," gasped the boy, and then he limped out of the store.

Dean was starving; wolf-like hunger gnawed at his insides. As soon as he left the mini-mart, he staggered into an alley, his numb fingers tearing open the first package. He didn't care what it was; he just needed something to fill his stomach. Like before, however, his stomach rejected it, and soon he was puking, heaving weakly into a dumpster. He managed to drag himself back to the motel, forcing his broken leg forwards and giving himself extra time between steps to rest. He didn't know how much longer he could take this pain; he wished his father were home already.

He fumbled for his key. The difficulty of grabbing any object had multiplied once he lost the feeling in various fingers. After multiple attempts, he finally pushed the key into the lock, twisting it. Once inside the motel room, he collapsed onto the floor. A strange, hot feeling writhed deep in his gut, and he vomited again. This time, it was more blood than anything else. Vaguely aware of his actions, he crawled towards the sink. He was so _thirsty._ If he could just...reach...the...the…

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 **A/N: Thanks for reading! I'll be posting the next chapter sometime later today or tomorrow. Please favorite, follow, and review!**


	4. Baby

**A/N: I know this one's a little shorter, but I wanted to publish another chapter today.**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #278 (Churning stomach)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It - #185 (Rum)**

 **Disclaimer: SPN belongs to the writers. I own nothing.**

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The sound of the door opening was immediately followed by a piercing shriek. "Dean!" It echoed in his head, ringing and flashing until it finally dawned on him. _Sammy_. He shivered. Sam, the baby… He was crying. "Baby's cryin'..." he mumbled. His tongue felt like lead in his mouth. "Gotta…" He coughed so violently that spots appeared before his eyes. "Get...the baby…"

"Dean… Dean, I'm right here!"

A wave of cold washed over the older Winchester that sent him into a round of shudders. He tried to stay awake, but he tripped and fell into murkiness again…

He faded in and out of memories; he dreamt of his mommy. She had blonde hair and smelled like lavender. She reached for him, brushing her fingers against his face, and he cried, putting his arms around her so she could pick him up. He was shoved away from her and suddenly he was in a dark motel room.

 _His daddy was in the corner, clutching a bottle of amber liquid and crying loudly. Even louder were the wails of the baby, Sammy. "Daddy," said Dean, and he tugged at his leather jacket. "Daddy, the baby—"_

 _John violently pushed him away, murmuring under his breath. He continued to sob, taking another swig of his drink and moaning about Mary._

 _Sammy's cries intensified, and Dean ran to the baby, trying to shush him. The crying seemed to further agitate John; he screamed to Dean, "Shut him up!"_

 _Dean rocked his baby brother and searched the mini fridge for a bottle. He knew babies drank from bottles; he wasn't stupid. But the refrigerator held no milk, and Dean didn't know what else to do. "Daddy, Daddy, there's no—"_

" _What?" His daddy's red-rimmed eyes focused angrily on him._

 _Dean flinched. "Nothing, I just—"_

 _John turned away and tipped the bottle back again, shutting his eyes to the cries of his child._

 _Sammy's little face was turning red with the exertion of crying, and Dean wished his daddy would help him. He cradled the baby, whispering, "It's okay," and thought of his mommy._

Dean awoke roughly to the sound of Sammy crying. He was frantically dialing; he knew John Winchester's number by heart. "Daddy, I need you," he wailed, but his words were broken by sobs. "Dean—he's sick. I-I don't know— Please pick up. Please… He's hurt b-bad, Daddy, a-and... I d-don't know what to do." He continued to call his father repeatedly, his messages becoming more and more desperate. Finally, he put the phone down, crying harder than ever.

Dean tried to open his eyes, but it was too difficult. "S'mmy," he groaned, his mouth dry and cracked. "S'm…" His stomach churned terribly.

"Dean!"

Pain speared through his torso; he wasn't sure if it was caused by hunger or physical trauma. He whimpered, trembling. Why was it so cold? He started to say Sam's name again, but before he could, his body shook with pain, and he slipped away again.

Dean's sleep was fitful and violent; his consciousness danced between tortured dreams of his family and naked awareness of his agonizing physical state. When finally he became partially aware of his surroundings, he sat up, feverish and pained. He murmured his brother's name, but no response came. "S'mmy!" he gasped. He crawled forward and all he could hear was the echo of a baby's cry in his ears. "Gotta...get...baby…" He stumbled forward, some of his pain numbed by his obligation to find his brother… "S'mmy…"

Dean found himself on the street. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten there, but all he knew was that he had to help his baby brother. He groaned and dragged himself forward, following the sound of the baby's crying. He could barely keep himself upright; he tumbled down the stairs after one attempt. He righted himself and used the wall as a crutch, taking one painful step after another in order to find his brother. The pain tore at his insides and buzzed in his ears, but he persisted, trekking forward. _Sammy_ , he thought, gasping as he followed his brother's cries into the frigid air. _Sammy_.

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 **A/N: Thanks for reading! I'll get the next chapter up as soon as I can.**


	5. Torn and Frayed

**A/N: Next chapter. It's from the cashier's perspective this time.**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #57 (A cheap motel)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #220 (donuts)**

 **Disclaimer: The SPN writers own all of this.**

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The cashier had received treatment for his minor shoulder gunshot wound and was already back at work after three days. It hardly hurt anymore; in fact, it had not bothered him so far that day. That might have been due to the heavy painkillers he had been prescribed, but he tried to think optimistically and believe that it was because he was healing quickly.

He hadn't had many customers that day, and he didn't mind that. He loved organizing the small store, and fewer customers meant fewer messes for him to clean up. He was engrossed in organizing the donuts, in fact, when the door opened. He turned to greet his newest customer, prepared to ask the person if they needed help, but he stopped in his tracks instead, his mouth going slack. His heart dropped inside his chest.

It was the boy: Dean. He knew this was his name, for his father and brother had addressed him as such while inside the store. He looked worse than he had a few days ago; his malnourished, skinny body was covered in a sheen of sweat that only emphasized his ill state. The front of his clothing was sticky with blood and vomit. His eyes, however, frightened the cashier the most. They were bloodshot and unfocused, flitting wildly about the room as if there was something evil lurking in every corner. "Baby…" he croaked, his eyes falling into another nystagmus of delirium. "Cryin'..." He stumbled forward two steps before collapsing on the floor with a sickening thump.

"Dean!" The cashier rushed forward to help the boy who had shot him only a few days beforehand. He placed his hand on the child's arm only to receive a weak hit in response.

The boy flinched away from his arms, all of his strength focused on getting away from the man. "No…" he slurred, his eyes opening and closing slowly. "Daddy… Sorry…"

The man took Dean into his arms before reaching for his phone, frantically dialing 911 with one hand. He pinned it between his ear and his shoulder, trying to comfort the child as he writhed in his feverish stupor. He pressed his hand to the boy's forehead to judge his temperature as the operator spoke. "911, what's your emergency?"

The cashier struggled to get a grip on Dean; the boy's face grew even more pale as his breaths became shorter. "There's a kid… He collapsed and he's… He's hurt real bad—" He pressed his hand to the boy's bony back and discovered that his grimy, torn T-shirt was sticky and soaked. "There's blood all over his back—his leg, too… He can barely breathe, and he—he—"

"Where are you located now?"

"Corner of Hawthorne and Forest… Store called Luke's."

"Is the victim breathing?"

"Yes, but I don't know how much longer—"

The boy coughed so hard that his back arched, and more blood flooded down his spine. "Daddy…" Dean gasped. "Baby cryin… Gotta...get...baby…"

"Dean, hey! Look at me, buddy, there's no baby." When Dean's unfocused gaze drifted past him, staring with undeniable fear at something beside him, he knew it would be extremely difficult to reach him.

"How old is the victim, sir?"

Dean began to whimper, shaking in terror and raising his left arm as if he was trying to protect his head. "Um—he-he's eleven, maybe? Twelve?" He wasn't sure why the age was relevant, but he guessed that—

"I'm going to ask that you stay with the victim, sir, do you understand?"

"Yes—yes. Of course."

"We are sending you an ambulance now, but the child needs your assistance. Do _not_ hang up the phone. Is he conscious?"

"Yes, but—he's not...lucid. He doesn't know I'm here. He keeps calling for a baby, and…"

"Okay, sir, we are going to try to keep him conscious. Can you locate the source of the bleeding?"

"Yes—yes—oh…"

"Sir?"

The cashier's large hands hovered over the jagged wound in Dean's back. It was trickling yellow pus and was swollen and red, bruised around the edges. "It's…bad."

"You need to put pressure on it to stop the bleeding."

Dean cringed, twisting out of the cashier's arms. "S'mmy…" When the cashier tried to keep him close, trapping the boy in his grasp and pressing against his injury, he felt a stinging pain in his cheek. "No…" The boy's arm dropped, and his fingers went limp, releasing a small pocket knife. Even as he was trying to help him, Dean put up a fight.

"Sir, The ambulance is almost to you, but—"

"Oh, God!"

"Sir? What's going on?"

Dean was thrashing now, his eyes falling into a frightening nystagmus and his lips turning blue. "He—He's seizing!" Foam slid out of the boy's mouth as he shook, his whole body twitching and convulsing.

"Roll him onto his side, sir," the operator stated calmly. "And lessen your grip on him. Make sure there's nothing around him he can injure himself on." The cashier followed her instructions carefully, cringing as Dean's seizing intensified.

"It's—he's not—oh, God—"

"It's alright, sir, we'll take it from here."

The cashier looked up to find four paramedics rushing into his store. Two pried Dean's convulsing form away from the cashier. The first paramedic, a small woman with a dark pixie cut and blue eyes, carried the boy with surprising ease and put him on the stretcher. They rolled him out of the store, conversing in medical terms. One grasped his arm and hurried him into the ambulance. Before he could protest, he was inside of the vehicle as they placed an oxygen mask over Dean's nose and mouth and strapped him down as he thrashed. The red-haired paramedic plunged a needle into his arm as they rounded a corner, but it didn't seem to slow the seizure.

All of a sudden, the boy went frighteningly, dangerously limp, his seizure stopping. "We've got full respiratory arrest, here—we're going to have to intubate."

"Pulse is rising," said another. "BP's dropping."

"Sir? Sir!"

The cashier jerked his head to face the nearest paramedic. "Yes?"

"I need to know how long this seizure lasted."

His thoughts were frantic and blurry. "He—I—five minutes? Maybe six?"

The woman cursed as two paramedics forced a tube down Dean's throat. They squeezed a bag of oxygen over his head, giving him air. As they arrived at the hospital, four doctors rushed to assist them, giving Dean injections and tearing off the boy's shirt to get a better look at his injuries.

The cashier, feeling helpless, tried to follow the boy's stretcher, but was immediately stopped by a doctor with a pile of curly hair and gold eyeshadow. "My name is Dr. Gilmore. Are you the boy's father?" She was clearly angry; her rage was obvious in her white-knuckled fingers and the position of her jaw. She thought that he was the cause of the child's poor condition.

"Is he going—where are they taking him? Is he gonna be okay? I don't—"

"Sir," the woman ordered, her expression reading only business, "the doctors are doing everything in their power to help your son. I just have a few questions about him that will help him. Does he have any allergies to medications?"

The cashier stared down at himself. His clothes were stained with Dean's blood; his thoughts returning, he stated, "I-I-I'm not his father. I just...found him."

The woman's expression relaxed slightly, her anger (previously directed at him) fading. "Oh. Sorry. Can you… tell me anything about him?"

The man nearly did a double take, his mouth rushing slightly ahead of his mind. "A brother."

"What?"

"He's got a brother. I don't know—the kid's probably all alone. He's six, I think, and he can't stay home by himself."

"Okay, we'll send someone over as soon as we can. Do you know where he lives?"

"No, I… Well, there's only one motel nearby: Blue Stars Motel?"

"Okay. Do you know what happened to him?"

The cashier quickly explained that he had seen Dean and his brother a few times in the past week and that their respective conditions had slightly diminished until Dean came to him, alone, with a gun. "He shot you?" asked the woman.

"No… well, yes," he replied, raising his wounded arm slightly, "but… I don't blame him, Doctor. I didn't press charges, or…" He watched, his voice trailing off, as she scribbled on her clipboard. "It wasn't bad. Just the arm. And I got it fixed up."

"Can you tell me if the boy matches any of these symptoms?" She listed a few, including shortness of breath, absent seizures, hallucinations, blood-tinged mucus, vomiting, nausea, shivering, wheezing, memory loss, coughing, and confusion, most of which he had recognized in Dean.

"Thank you, sir," she said finally. "We'll let you know about Dean's condition as soon as we can. Can you tell me your name?"

"Jimmy," he said quickly. "Jimmy Novak."

* * *

 **A/N: I'll post the next chapter soon! Thanks for reading!**


	6. Defending Your Life

**Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #189 (coffee)**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #942 (Black coffee)**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Jimmy waited for a long time to find out about Dean. He'd never felt so impatient in his entire life. Although it was getting darker and darker outside, he couldn't bear to go home. What if Dean... He didn't want to think about it. He just bought himself another cup of black coffee and waited more. When the doctor finally returned to fetch him, covered in large bloodstains, he feared the worst. "Is he…?" He couldn't bear to say it.

"No, sir," she said, pulling off her gloves, "but he's in really bad shape."

"How—How bad?"

She looked down at her clipboard and hesitated. "He… Mr. Novak, if he makes it through the night, then I think he's got a chance."

Although it wasn't a promise, it was something. "Doctor, what happened to him?"

Again, she hesitated. "I haven't ever seen someone with this bad… A child, no less…"

"Doctor?"

"He's severely malnourished," she began. "He probably hasn't eaten in a week or two. We've found evidence that the lacerations he has were caused by a car."

"He was hit by a car?" he repeated, turning the coffee cup over and over in his hands.

She nodded. "And then received no treatment for the wounds, the internal organ damage, or his severe head injury. The car crash caused a compound fracture in his right leg, a couple stable fractures in his left leg, two oblique fractures in his right arm, and multiple comminuted fractures in his right leg and ribs. He then went out in that terrible storm a few days ago, we believe, and developed hypothermia and frostbite in the process—it's all over him. He developed pneumonia as well, which also went untreated and caused acute pulmonary edema. He never received any pneumococcal vaccines, or any other vaccines for that matter. It's too dangerous to perform anything surgical on him now because he's far too weak. He can barely lift his head. Mr. Novak, this little boy…" Her voice broke. "He's been severely neglected. I can't believe someone would… And on the day after Christmas, no less…" She stopped, unable to continue, so Jimmy spoke up.

"What about the seizure? What happened with that?"

"I believe the cause was a combination of his head trauma and his current fragility."

"And the father… Is he here yet?"

The doctor shook her head. "We haven't seen him. But the younger brother should be here any minute n—"

" _Dean!_ " A tiny blue blur shot through the doors of the waiting room like a bullet before it was stopped by a burly security guard. "No, Dean— _lemme go!_ " It was Sammy, the little brother, and he was immediately followed by a paramedic and a short woman in a pantsuit. "Lemme go, lemme go, _lemme go!_ "

Sammy was grimy and small; he was not quite as thin as his older brother, but the early stages of his malnourishment was still clear. There were bloodstains on his shirt and pants, which the doctors inside quickly checked, but it became obvious that the blood covering him did not belong to him. It was Dean's. The doctor tried to take his hand to lead him to an examination room, but he screamed and fought until the doctor's face was swelling with several scratches. "No—no— _no!_ Get off me! No!"

"Hey, hey…" Jimmy rushed forward, trying to comfort the dark-haired boy. "Sammy, it's okay."

At hearing his own name, the little boy recoiled as though he'd been slapped, pausing in his incessant aggression. He looked to Jimmy, his expression morphing into shock. The doctor put him down, touching her face gingerly to judge the severity of the scratches. The nurse then took advantage of the situation, plunging a small needle into the hollow of Sam's arm. His body relaxed, and his eyes closed, the medication sedating him. They pulled him into an examination room, and the doctor soon returned to Jimmy to explain the younger brother's condition. "We're having him admitted as well," she said, pushing a stray curl behind her ear. At Jimmy's expression, she assured, "Don't worry. He's not visibly hurt, and nowhere near as bad as Dean. He's just got a little pneumonia, that's all—I'm glad we caught it early. He's a little skinnier than I'd like, so we're going to keep him here for a few days, but he's generally healthy."

Jimmy let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "He'll be okay?"

The doctor nodded. "As far as we can tell, we can release him in a day or two."

"And Dean?"

"I'm… Well, we're still investigating his condition." He sat down, rubbed his sore arm, and sighed. "Mr. Novak," said the doctor, "sir, you don't have to stay. You could go home now, get some rest, recover a little…"

Jimmy shook his head. "My brother's taking over for me at the store. I'm good. I'd rather be here."

The doctor cocked her head at him, frowning slightly. She remained silent for a few moments, torn, until saying, "These… aren't your boys. You…" She paused. "It's awfully kind of you to stay for them."

Jimmy smiled sadly and met her eyes. "Well, who else is going to?"

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading!**


	7. Dream A Little Dream Of Me

**A/N: In this chapter, Dean has nightmares while unconscious in the hospital.**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #327 (Handcuffs)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #324 (I don't think so)**

 **Disclaimer: SPN writers still own all this beauty.**

* * *

 _Dean's arms ached. They were wrenched above his head, chained to some metal hook on the ceiling. The woman before him licked her lips, circling him as a predator would stalk prey. "I would just," she began, curling one long fingernail beneath his chin, "kill you now, but unfortunately, I need you alive." Her eyes sparkled with malice. "Your daddy's gonna come rescue you."_

 _Dean spit in her face._

 _The demon's eyes flashed black, and she reared her hand back before slapping him across the face in a wave of fury. Baring her teeth, she growled, "One more outburst like that, Winchester, and I'll_ —"

" _Shut up," Dean said, his fear masked by false courage. "My dad will come, and when he gets here, he's gonna kill you." He tried to ignore the way his voice shook._

 _The demon's pale mouth curled into a twisted smile. "I'm counting on it, boy," she hissed._

 _Then she lunged, and Dean screamed._

* * *

"Pulse is rising—what's happening?"

"He's seizing; we need help in here, he's seizing!"

"Put him on his side!"

"BP's dropping!"

"Come on, Dean, stay with us, come on…"

"Lost cardiac rhythm!"

"Someone get a crash cart in here—we've got a Code Blue!"

* * *

" _Daddy, please…" Dean sobbed, trying to pull his arms out of the handcuffs. He could hear John moving from the other side of the bathroom door. "It hurts…"_

" _You gotta learn your lesson, son," he said, his voice muffled through the wood. "You make a mistake like that on a case, and you'll get hurt. End of story."_

" _Daddy…"_

" _Just get out of the handcuffs, Dean. Then I'll patch you up."_

 _Dean stifled another sob and twisted his wrists. The cold metal dug into his skin, and he gasped, tears slipping down his cheeks. The wound in his side was bleeding more profusely now, and he was starting to feel dizzy. A wave of nausea passed over him, so forceful that he gagged. Tears dripped from his nose. "Daddy…"_

" _Dean, it's not hard at all. Just take your right…"_

 _Dean couldn't hear him anymore. His neck swung forward until he jerked awake to hear the sound of water running. His father stood at the sink, washing his hands. His mouth was dry, so it took him a few seconds to find his voice. "Da…"_

 _John didn't even glance in his son's direction. "Haven't got out of those cuffs yet, have you?" When Dean didn't respond, he spoke louder. "Boy?"_

 _He mumbled something in response, his entire body aching from the odd sleep position and the wound in his side._

 _John, his back facing his son, shook his head, gripping the sides of the sink. "I thought you were better than this, Dean. I…" He sighed. "I'm disappointed in you."_

 _Finally, he faced Dean. To him, his father's disappointed expression hurt more than his wound. "I'm sorry," Dean managed._

 _"I don't think so." He turned around again._ " _I'll check on you in a couple hours," he said simply, opening the door. "I'm taking Sam with me."_

 _Dean's heart bounced in his ribcage like a pinball. "Wh-what?" If he was stuck here in the bathroom, that meant John was alone with Sam. John...alone with Sam. Oh, God… "No… No!" The door closed. "Daddy… no! I'm sorry! Please! I'm sorry!"_

* * *

"Look… he's awake!"

Dean knew that voice. Sam. _Sam._ Sam was alone with Dad.

"Dean? Dean, son, blink if you can understand me."

There was something in his throat, choking him and throwing him into a bout of paranoia. He raised his left hand to take it out, thrashing slightly.

"What's he doing?"

It wouldn't move, and the horror pressing at Dean's skull intensified until he began to strike the foreign object with vigor.

"Dean—Dean, no, don't touch that. I know it's uncomfortable, but you need it to breathe. We can't—"

There was cold metal encircling his wrist, and Dean automatically tugged at it, terror washing over him.

"Dean?"

When it didn't move, he choked on his fear, moving his other arm to hack at it frantically.

"Dean, I know the handcuffs aren't ideal, but we can't—"

"Dean!"

"Dean, stop messing with the handcuff. The police won't let us take it off of you—Dean, no! You're gonna hurt your—Dean, cut it out!"

Dean couldn't breathe. At first it had been difficult, but now he felt as though he were drowning, and he tried to sit up to relieve some pressure, but his chest spiked with pain and someone screamed his name.

Then he washed away again into the ocean of blood and torment…

* * *

" _Here, Dean," John said, and he tossed the gun at him. Dean tried to catch it with his small hands, but it was heavier than he expected and he dropped it instead. "Dean!"_

 _He jumped, startled by his father's outburst. John's eyes were swollen and red; yesterday had marked one full year since the fire. As usual, his breath reeked of whiskey, so Dean was reminded vividly of pain. His arm was still sore from the night before when John had thrown him to the side in his drunken stupor. "Pick it up."_

 _Dean obeyed, nodding, and grabbed the gun from the ground, holding it awkwardly with his tiny hands. Somewhere in the back of his head, he knew that this gun wasn't meant for five-year-olds. "Now, aim for the can," John instructed, "and fire."_

 _Dean pulled the trigger, but the shot was nothing like he expected. The gun jerked back in his hands, slipping out of his fingers to smack him in the face. He cried out, on the ground now, and clutched his eye._

 _But John didn't approach him to ask if he was okay. He merely scowled and said, "You missed by a mile, Dean." He pushed the gun back into his son's bruised hands. "Try again."_

" _B-b-but Daddy—"_

" _Don't test me, Dean!"_

 _Dean quickly shut his mouth. He knew what his father could be like when he was angry. He clutched his face; something was bleeding, and he couldn't help but sniffle—_

 _Dean was yanked roughly to his feet. "What have I told you, Dean?" he growled. "Soldiers don't cry."_

" _Y-yes, sir," he whimpered, scrubbing his tears away. "I—I just wanted to—"_

" _What?" John snapped. "What is it?"_

" _Sa-Sammy," Dean stammered, "sir. He's inside, and I just wanna go back and see if he's—"_

" _Did I tell you you could go back inside yet, boy?"_

" _N-no, sir, b-but—"_

" _You're staying here until you hit that can. Now try again."_

 _So Dean shot at the can until his face was bloody and his right arm was covered in bruises, because that was the only way he could get back to Sammy._

 _The gun snapped back into his mouth._

" _Good. Again."_

 _His lip swelled with blood._

" _Good. Again."_

 _The metal split open his cheek._

" _Good. Again."_

* * *

 **A/N: I know it's a bit of a filler chapter, but I thought it would be nice to get into Dean's head a little. Thanks for reading, everyone!**


	8. Mommy Dearest

**A/N: Some more tidbits of the Winchesters at the hospital.**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #20 (Night fever)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It - #147 (yellow)**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

"You don't understand, Doctor. When he saw the handcuffs, he… He was so scared. He's just a boy, just a kid… Can't you convince them to take it off? Every time he wakes up it's like he's walked right into a nightmare."

"Mr. Novak—"

"Jimmy."

"Jimmy. I've spoken to the police about this—not very nicely, I might add—but they refuse to take them off. Apparently, your manager is pressing charges against him for damages against the store and for shooting you."

"But I didn't—"

"I know you didn't press charges, Jimmy, but Dean did procure a firearm and ammunition, bring it into a weapons-free zone, and cause dangerous bodily harm to you. That's a punishable offense."

"How can you—"

"I'm not saying it's right, Jimmy. I'm just telling you that's the way it is."

"Then talk to them. Explain the situation."

"I tried. This town isn't too lenient with the law, Jimmy. Especially not concerning strangers."

"He's just a kid!"

"I know—and I'll do everything in my power to help him."

"Then take the handcuffs off of him."

"I'll lose my medical license if I do that. I convinced them to let me put padding inside the cuffs, but that's as much leeway as they'd allow me."

"...I'm sorry. I know you're doing your best."

"It's okay. I want them off as much as you do, Jimmy, but—"

"Did you see that?"

"What?"

"He—he blinked."

"He did? Dean? Can you look at me?"

"Dean, hey, can you hear me?"

"Dean? Dean!"

* * *

" _Dean!"_

 _The elder Winchester scrambled into the motel, his little brother in tow. He scurried into the farthest corner of the room, where there was a small closet. He pushed Sammy into the back even as he protested, crying, "Daddy's mad, De, Daddy's real mad…"_

" _I know, kiddo," he replied, smoothing down Sam's hair. He tried not to make his absolute terror visible to his little brother. "But it'll be okay. Just stay right here and promise me you won't make any noise, okay?"_

" _Okay," Sam said, but he wrapped his arms around his brother's chest before Dean could leave. "I love you."_

" _I love you, too, Sammy," Dean said, and his voice shook as he hugged his brother back. He kissed the boy's forehead. "Stay here. Don't move. Keep quiet."_

 _Sam nodded mutely, wiping away his tears._

 _Just as John entered the motel, shoving the door open and growling Dean's name, he shut the closet door, providing Sam with the one thing he didn't have: protection._

* * *

Dean coughed and sputtered, his throat raw. He unconsciously pulled his arm up against the handcuffs, but a kind voice with long, blonde hair told him to leave it alone. "We're going to take the tube out, Dean," she said. "You have to cough so we can get it out, alright?"

He coughed, obeying her, and when she leaned into his vision, he saw strands of long, blonde hair. After the tube was removed, he tried to lift his hands to reach her, but for some reason neither of them moved. The woman tried to put an oxygen mask over his face, but he turned his head slightly, his lips twitching in protest. "M'mmy…" he murmured. The woman pressed the contraption over his nose and mouth, relieving some of the pressure in his chest.

"Can you take a big breath for me, Dean?"

Dean took a ragged, shallow breath, mesmerized by the woman's yellow hair.

"Good. Very good." She pressed something cold against his chest. "Can you do it again?"

Yet again, Dean obeyed, but he wasn't sure why.

"Very nice. You're doing well, Dean. Don't try to talk just yet. I know everything probably hurts a lot, but that's okay. That's normal. Do you know where you are? Blink once for yes and twice for no." Dean's eyes were too busy trying to focus on the blonde woman before him to do what she told him. "Dean? Dean?"

Dean slipped out of reality, and this time, he didn't quite mind.

* * *

 _Dean coughed. "Mommy," he whined, shivering. "Mommy!"_

 _His mother appeared in the doorway. "Feel like eating something, sweetie?"_

 _He shook his head. "My tummy hurts."_

" _Some juice, then?"_

 _He nodded._

" _I'll get you some medicine, too," she said, resting her cool hand on his forehead._

 _Before she could leave again, Dean called out, "Mommy!" This time, his words were sharp and urgent._

" _Yes, honey?"_

" _Am I gonna die?"_

 _She laughed. "No, of course not, Dean." She sat down on the bed next to him and wiped the hair away from his eyes. "It's just the flu, that's all. A couple of days and your fever will be gone." She kissed his forehead. "Then you'll be back to normal."_

" _Are you sure?"_

 _She smiled again, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Yes, honey, I'm sure." She kissed the top of his head. "Now, I'll come back in a minute with your medicine, okay?"_

 _He nodded. "Okay, Mommy."_

" _I love you," she told him, tapping his nose. "Get some rest."_

" _I love you, too, Mommy," Dean replied sleepily._

* * *

"The foster parents told us Sam hasn't been eating."

"Really?"

"Or sleeping, if he can help it. He keeps asking for Dean."

"They can't get him to eat anything?"

"A couple sandwiches here and there, but not enough to keep him healthy. Only enough to live."

"Why can't they just bring him here to see Dean?"

"They think it's a traumatizing environment for him."

"The only thing traumatizing about this situation is Sam not being able to see his brother. You've seen how they are together."

"I know; they can't stand to be without each other. But there's not much we can do. CPS has control over this one, not the hospital."

"I—I applied to be foster parents for the boys."

"You did?"

"Yeah, but they turned me down. I don't make enough money, I guess. It wasn't going to be permanent—I just wanted to keep an eye on them until we found some relative to take care of them, but it looks like…"

"They couldn't find anyone?"

"No. Grandparents on both sides are gone… Parents didn't have any siblings… They move around too much to have family friends…"

"And the father? Still MIA?"

"Yeah. Although, apparently he dropped by the motel to collect his stuff, because when CPS showed to get the boys' things, it was empty."

"I just wish I could get my hands on the bastard."

"...I know. Me, too. Who would ever let things get this bad for these boys?"

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for the next chapter.**


	9. Nightmare

**A/N: Big thanks to all of my readers! Here, we'll see some more of Dean's dreams.**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #225 (genre) family**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #94 (Chains)**

 **Disclaimer: The writers own it all.**

* * *

 _Dean awoke to an incredibly painful sensation tearing through the flesh of his back. He cried out at the impact, attempting to twist away from his attacker, but his arms were bound, shackled, to the wall before him. He was_ trapped _._

 _It laughed, its deep bellow sending shivers through the boy. For a second, Dean mistook the voice for that of his father. Through the haze of pain and in between each agonizing lash, he remembered who was attacking him. He and his father had been chasing after a particularly violent ghost with an ugly streak of torturing children._

 _Dean wished now that he hadn't accompanied his father on this hunt._

 _The ghost circled him, growling softly. Icy fingertips brushed against his cheek, and Dean shivered. "Get away from me," he hissed. "Don't—"_

 _In return for his protests, Dean received a broken nose and a swollen eye. He pulled violently against his restraints, but the ghost only laughed again. "You're a pretty one," it said. "This'll be fun."_

 _It took four more strikes across Dean's bare back for him to realize he was being whipped. The leather ripped through his skin again and he screamed. The ghost growled in response and raised the whip again._

 _It met his back with a sickening slap. One. Two. Five._ Twenty _._

 _Dean lost count of how many strikes. They blurred together but hurt all the same. He could feel the slick blood running over his back and down his legs until it pooled at his feet. He could no longer stand; the floor was too slippery with his blood. It's not like he could stand if he had wanted to, for he was far too weak._

 _One. Two. Five… Ten…_

 _Dean could barely think; the pain blurred his thoughts, so he focused on one thing:_ Sammy _._

 _Dean's head dipped as he slipped out of consciousness, and the ghost slapped him again, craving a reaction, but this time he did not respond. Angry, it slashed open the skin of his leg, and finally Dean rose, begging for mercy._

 _As Dean soon learned, ghosts didn't care much for mercy._

* * *

Dean's back speared him with pain, and he found himself shaking in fear and cold, his mind surging forth with memories that matched his circumstances. He was injured, cold, and… He lifted his heavy head to find his left arm shackled to the bed. He was trapped…in the dark.

He shook with fear, immediately cowering in anticipation of a blow. When none came, he began to tremble, panic washing over him. He needed to find a way out. One hand wasn't bound to the bed; instead, his right arm was trapped in a large, heavy cast and tucked close to his chest in a sling. The other was chained to the side of the bed by a set of handcuffs. He sat up, receiving a rush of discomfort as he did so, and tried to wrench his right arm out of the sling. His fear was intensifying; the beeping noise from beside him grew more frequent until he finally tore the sling with his teeth and threw his arm to the side, pushing his pain into the back of his head as he banged it against the handcuff over and over again until the metal contraption broke.

The machine was beeping erratically now, and Dean pulled the mask away from his face and sat up with crazed eyes, tearing out wires and scouring the room for the one thing he cared about: Sammy. His throat was dry and burned as though he hadn't drunk anything in days. "S'mmy…" he gasped.

He stood up and quickly found that he had a similar cast encasing his right leg. "S'm…"

He had to get out of here, fast, before the monsters came back. He pulled his leg forward—which felt oddly familiar—and half-limped, half-crawled towards the door.

His throat tightened.

 _Sammy_.

There was a strange wheezing sound in the room. It took Dean a few seconds to realize the unusual, shallow sound was coming from him. He could scarcely breathe; his chest felt as though a giant rubber band was tightening around his lungs.

He sucked in a miniscule amount of air and trudged forth, but it was impossible to stay quiet. A rush of cold slid down his spine and he shuddered uncontrollably, momentarily losing consciousness and collapsing against the wall. Hearing footsteps heading down the hallway, he shrunk back behind a cart, shaking. He touched one frail hand to his head, dizzy, and winced when he heard someone shout his name.

" _Dean_!"

Jimmy watched him fall against the wall, his eyes rolling up into his head. He rushed forward to help him, but already two men and a woman in scrubs were coming towards him. How had he gotten out of his room without anyone noticing? More importantly, how had he gotten up at all? He touched the boy's shoulder and realized that he was unnaturally hot to the touch. "Oh, God…"

The female doctor kneeled and picked Dean up as though he were an infant, immediately coming to a similar conclusion. "His temperature's out of control," she said. "Let's get him back to the ICU."

Dean writhed in her arms, whining intelligibly about his brother. His skin was covered in a sheen of sweat and blood. They quickly moved him to another room, and a male nurse prevented him from entering. Jimmy looked on, helpless, as Dean disappeared through a pair of doors.

* * *

 _"Come here, Sammy," Dean said, motioning to him. "Let me take a look at you."_

 _The younger Winchester slumped, bowing his head. He shook his head slowly in response, eyes glued to the floor._

 _"Sam?"_

 _When his little brother looked up to meet his eyes, Dean was met with a wave of emotions in the form of two bloodshot eyes and a face streaked with blood and tears. "It hurts, De," he whimpered. "I don't wanna… It hurts."_

 _At Sam's words, Dean rose, limping towards him. "Dad wasn't supposed to take you with him, Sammy," he said. "I'm sorry."_

 _Sam nodded slowly, clutching his arm._

 _"You're too little for this. You're not…" He rubbed his forehead absentmindedly. "I'm sorry." He led his brother to the motel's bed. "Let me see it." Sam reluctantly lifted his tiny arm and allowed Dean to take it. The wound wasn't fatal, but Dean would have to stitch it up because his father was busy getting drunk. "Anything else hurt?"_

 _"My head," he admitted, his squeaky voice getting a little higher as he spoke. "My back, too."_

 _Dean scoured his little brother for more John-induced injuries and located a small cut on his head, scrapes across his back and hands, and a nasty burn lining his side and upper arm. "What happened here?" he asked, trying to keep his temper under control._

 _"The Wendy, De, the Wendy…" Sam muttered._

 _"Wendigo."_

 _"Yeah."_

 _"Wendigos don't breathe fire, Sam."_

 _"But Daddy does."_

 _"What?" Dean's fists clenched. "He used the flamethrower near you?"_

 _"He didn' mean to!"_

 _"Don't defend him, Sam," Dean growled. "This is not okay, do you understand me?"_

 _Sam's gaze dropped again. "Sorry."_

 _"Don't be sorry," Dean said, softer. "I'm sorry. This is my fault, okay? It was supposed to be me out there, not you."_

 _"Okay, De," Sam mumbled, and he hugged Dean, pressing his face into his shirt._

 _"I'll always be there to protect you, Sammy," Dean whispered. "Don't worry. I won't let this happen again."_

 _Then he told Sam to get the first aid kit, because ten-year-old Dean needed to stitch a five-year-old's open wound._

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! In the next chapter, Dean will probably come back to consciousness.**


	10. Don't You Forget About Me

**A/N: Thanks for your patience!**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #486 (Tapping sounds)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #145 (Sky blue)**

 **Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to the writers.**

* * *

"Every time he gets up, he's looking for Sam."

"I know—what does that have to do with me?"

"Mrs. Spencer, Sam is currently your foster child. It's within your power to bring him here."

"Yes…and?"

"Dean is suffering without Sam. He's putting himself in extreme danger in order to reach him. Because we care about Dean's health, we believe that it would be best if Sam stayed at the hospital with his brother."

"Dr. Gilmore, with all due respect, it's in our best interest that Sam gets the same treatment as the other foster children. We can't give him special treatment just because his brother made some poor decisions."

"With all due respect, Mrs. Spencer, I don't think you have the faintest idea what you're talking about."

"Excuse me, but—"

"No. Do you have any idea what these boys have been through?"

"Doctor, I've worked with a lot of delicate cases through the years—"

"Well, clearly not enough! I've seen Sam with you, Mrs. Spencer, and he is _afraid_!"

"He is unnaturally codependent on Dean! I am helping him! I'm helping him become _normal_!"

"He _needs_ his brother, Mrs. Spencer! This is not a matter of making a child _normal_! This is a matter of life and death!"

"I already explained—"

"I don't care what you think about Sam's codependency on Dean or his inability to function like the other children! I don't care, do you understand me? It doesn't matter! I am telling you the absolute truth right now: Dean will _die_ without his brother."

* * *

" _You were supposed to be_ watching _him, Dean! What were you thinking?"_

 _Dean flinched, backing up. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't—"_

 _John, furious, flung the chair out of the way to reach his son. "You had one job, Dean! One job! And you screwed it up!"_

" _I-I-I—"_

" _What was your job, Dean? What_ was _it?"_

 _Dean was crying now. "T-to w-watch Sam-m-my, b-but I—"_

" _And I come home and you tell me he's_ gone _?! You idiot!" John hit Dean so hard he saw stars. "What were you supposed to do?"_

 _Dean sobbed, heaving for every breath. "T-take ca-are of Sam-m…"_

" _Then where is he?" John lifted him up by his shirt._

" _I-I-I d-don't kn-now—"_

" _I didn't ask for your blubbering, Dean! I asked you where your_ brother _was!" He tossed Dean to the side as though he were nothing, sending him crashing into the table._

" _I-I'm sorry, I d-don't—"_

" _I don't want your_ apologies _!"_

 _As Dean crawled away, crying, he kicked him in the face. Blood flooded down his chin. "Where. Is. Sam?"_

* * *

Dean screamed, "Sammy!" but his voice came out as choked, intelligible gurgles instead of words. Paranoia overwhelmed him, and he thrashed, trying to escape his restraints.

"He's awake!"

"Pulse is rising!"

"Dean? Dean, calm down!"

"Jimmy, go get Sam. Now!"

Dean writhed against the hands on him, trying to reach Sam—if he could just reach Sam—

"Dean!"

A wave of familiarity washed over Dean, followed by small fingers, which wrapped around his uninjured arm. Dean's eyelids fluttered, and he caught a hazy glimpse of his little brother. Shaggy, dark hair and huge, sky blue eyes… For the first time, Dean was able to relax slightly. _Sammy._

"Pulse is going back down."

"He looks like he's breathing okay; let's get the tube out."

"Can you cough for me, Dean?"

Dean tensed; that voice didn't belong to Sam. "Dean?" The high-pitched voice of his little brother soothed him. "She's okay… She wants you to cough to get the tube out. It won't be bad. Come on, De…"

Dean coughed and the tube was painfully pulled from his throat and replaced by a large mask that covered his nose and mouth. As he gasped, trying to regain control of his breathing, Sam said, "It's okay, Dean…"

"Don't try to talk," warned the woman. Dean cringed, waiting for some sort of pain, but none occurred. He still shifted, trying to lean away from her. "It'll hurt a lot."

Dean met his brother's happy eyes and tapped his cast against the side of the bed. _Short. Short. Long._ Pause. _Long. Short. Long._

"What's he doing?" inquired a new voice. This one was much deeper and so gruff that Dean stiffened, his heart rate quickening. "Why is he…?"

"I'm okay, Dean," Sam whispered. "But you're not."

 _Short. Short. Short._ Pause. _Short. Long._ Pause. _Short. Short. Long. Short._ Pause. _Short._

The woman let out a sharp gasp. "Yeah," Sam said, his grip tightening on Dean. "We're safe. We're in a hospital. They're…taking care of us."

 _Short. Short._ Pause. _Short. Long. Short. Short._ Pause. _Long. Short. Long. Long._

Sam stared at Dean for a few odd seconds and burst into tears.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! Please favorite, follow, and review!**


	11. Death's Door

**A/N: Yay, the boys are back together! And Dean's doing better. I hope you like this next chapter!**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #127 (Several Deep Breaths)**

 **Disclaimer: _Supernatural_ is owned by the writers.**

* * *

Each following day, Sam stayed at the hospital with Dean. Dr. Gilmore and Jimmy convinced Child Protective Services to allow special circumstances for the two boys. They sent a tutor to the hospital so that Sam could still participate in his schoolwork while seeing Dean. At first, they refused to let Sam sleep in the hospital with Dean, but after a few incidents of extreme distress in both the older and the younger Winchester, they set up a bed in the corner of Dean's new hospital room where Sam could sleep. Sam rarely utilized the bed; in fact, he nearly always slept in the same bed as Dean. The boys were quite obviously inseparable.

Dean eventually regained the use of his voice, but Dr. Gilmore sometimes caught them speaking in different languages when they didn't want to be heard. Latin, usually, but a lot of times it was Morse code when Dean was too tired to speak. She'd even caught glimpses of sign language between the two, although most of it came from Sam because Dean's hands were both incapacitated. Dr. Gilmore had never seen anything like the Winchester boys in her life. Dean's fatal malnutrition was soon gone, although he never ate as much as she wanted him to, and had a strangely violent reaction whenever faced with a needle, he was getting better. They were worried about his fingers; a couple of them had severe frostbite, but soon he regained feeling in all of them. His pneumonia faded as well; he still had a painful, wheezing cough, but it only arrived when Dean was stressed (which always occurred when Sam was gone) or scared (which was when he thought he was being threatened). As his illness and infection went away, his body started to heal faster; his broken arm was now only in a brace, and he was strong enough to stand. Now, the doctors were only worried about Dean's head trauma and the resulting symptoms, as well as his back wound. The cut in his leg was healing nicely, too, and Dr. Gilmore was proud to say that Dean was out of death's range now. She loved spending time with Sam and Dean; making them feel safe became her first priority.

So when CPS arrived while she was making her daily rounds, Dr. Gilmore was a little more than upset. She turned the corner into the hallway where Dean's room was and heard screaming. "No! No! _No!_ "

She knew who that voice belonged to: Dean. She dropped her clipboard and ran to find a man gripping Dean and a woman prying Sam from Dean's arms while both of them cried and screeched in protest. "No! Dean!" Sam's foot collided with the woman's face.

Dean yanked violently at his handcuffs, thrashing wildly. "Sammy! _Sammy!_ "

Dr. Gilmore stopped in the doorway, shocked. "What the _hell_ is going on here?"

"Finally, a nurse," sighed the woman, relieved. Dr. Gilmore was satisfied to see that her nose was swelling. "We've been trying to get these two apart, and we need some help—"

"First of all, you'd better get your hands off of these boys before I have them call security."

"We have jurisdiction to be here! We—"

"Second of all, I am a _doctor_. _Their_ doctor, in fact. So you put Sam down right now and tell me what the _hell_ is going on before I drag you out of here myself!"

Both of them released the children. Sam scrambled into the bed to hug Dean tightly, sobbing into his older brother's shoulder. Dean pressed his lips to Sam's head, whispering shakily to him. "We're here from Child Protective Services, Doctor," the woman said, smoothing her hair. "We've come to take Sam to a foster home and Dean to… well, Dean is to be arrested."

"Are you insane?" she snarled, and she saw Dean visibly startle. "Have you seen the state these boys are in?"

"Doctor, Dean is well enough now that we can—"

"I will determine whether or not he is fit to leave this hospital, not you!"

"Dr. Gilmore?" Jimmy stood in the hallway, his eyes wandering over the two terrified boys and the three other visitors. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," she said sharply, pushing herself between them and the Winchesters. "They were just leaving."

At first, the woman opened her mouth to protest, but was faced with a piercing Gilmore glare. She nodded and guided her companion out of the hospital room. Dr. Gilmore and Jimmy followed them, closing the door behind them.

Jimmy looked to her. "What…"

"They were here to take them away," she said softly, glancing at Sam and Dean through the doorway. "They were going to separate them."

The color drained from the man's face. "But—but Dean's not well enough yet."

Dr. Gilmore bowed her head. "According to the police, as long as he's well enough to leave the hospital just on medication, he can go."

"But he's still weak—if they separate them, Dean's health—"

"Will plummet, I know."

"What do we do?"

The doctor gave one final glance over at the Winchesters. "Find an alternative."

Sam and Dean spent most of the rest of the day in the hospital room by themselves. No tutors, no nurses, and as little of Dr. Gilmore as she could manage. Finally, it was time to go inside to check on them, but when she attempted to open the door, she found it to be barricaded. They had shoved Dean's bed up against the door so she could not enter. "Dean?" She jiggled the doorknob. "Dean!"

She heard frantic whispering from the other side of the door.

"Dean, open this door!"

The whispering intensified to a low whine, and then Dr. Gilmore recognized with horror the sound of Dean coughing. There were only two reasons he would be coughing again: Sam wasn't there or he felt like he was in danger. "Dean!"

" _Dean!" His father yanked on the doorknob. "Dean, open this door!" The doorknob jerked back and forth, and Dean clutched Sam even closer to him. "Dean!"_

Dr. Gilmore burst into the room with the help of Jimmy and another nurse, and she found Dean struggling for air. "N-n-n—" His lips were blue.

Sam was beside him, red-faced and crying. When Jimmy reached for him, he screamed, backing into the wall and calling for Dean. The doctor pried open Dean's eyes to check for seizure activity, but found nothing but evidence of hyperventilation and leftover breathing problems. "Dean! You need to calm down!" At the sound of her voice, he cringed. "Dean, listen to me. Just take some deep breaths. Deep breaths!"

 _The lock on the door broke to John Winchester's strength after a full minute of his wrath. Dean cried out in fear and curled his arms around his brother protectively. "Dean!"_

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading!**


	12. Family Remains

**A/N: Next chapter!**

 **If You Dare Challenge- #245 - Early Morning**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - 374. (restriction) No using the genre romance or angst**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

Dean's hyperventilation caused an extension of his medical condition that allowed Dr. Gilmore and Jimmy Novak to fend off CPS and the police for two weeks more. In the meantime, they struggled to make a solution. After contacting as many doctors and social workers as they could, they were exhausted trying to find another option for the Winchester boys. Finally, they received a call from a man named Sonny who had once worked with Jimmy's nephew.

"I run a boys' home," he explained, " fifty miles or so past the city limits."

"And the police…" Jimmy began.

"They've agreed to let me take care of Dean until his father returns," he said. "I make sure boys like him stay out of jail, so the police and I have arranged things like this in the past. As long as they provide an escort to take the boys to my place, they'll allow it."

"What about Sam?"

"Who?"

"The younger brother. He's not a part of this, but if he and Dean are separated…"

"I… I didn't know there was a younger brother. How old?"

"He's seven."

"Seven… I've never had a kid that young here before."

"Sonny, please. If they take Sam away, Dean… He's already in bad shape, but he'll get much, much worse."

The man hesitated. "It won't be perfect."

"It doesn't have to be," Dr. Gilmore assured him. "All we care about is that Sam and Dean stay together."

Sonny nodded before realizing they could not see him. "Okay."

"You'll do it?"

"Of course. I'm always willing to help."

"I'm going to warn you in advance, Sonny," Jimmy interjected. "These boys probably aren't like anyone you've seen before."

* * *

When Dr. Gilmore entered the Winchester's room early the following morning, the boys were in bed, Dean wrapping his unrestrained arm around his brother. Sam was asleep, curled up on Dean's lap, but the older boy was wide awake. He jumped when she opened the door. "Dean?" she said gently, trying to to scare him or wake Sam. "Dean?"

He looked up. His eyes were red and his jaw was set. "You try to take him away from me again," he growled, his voice raw, "and I'll kill you." He looked back down again, focused entirely on his brother.

Dr. Gilmore, uncomfortable, sat down in one of the visitor's chairs. "We've found a place for you to go."

Dean's eyes didn't leave Sam. "I'm not leaving Sam."

"I know," she said, the news bursting forth from her. "We found a way for you to stay together."

Finally, Dean met her gaze, but this time it was not drowning in anger and hatred. It was…suspicious. "Sam an' me?"

"Yes. The both of you."

"Where?"

"A man named Sonny runs a home for boys a few miles outside of town. For boys...like you. He'll take you in until we get everything sorted out."

"Like me?" he repeated cautiously.

"Boys...in tough situations."

Dean was silent for a moment. "This wouldn't be a tough situation," he said quietly, "if you let us go home." He flinched immediately after saying it as if he expected a blow.

Dr. Gilmore reeled in shock. "Home?" she echoed.

"Yeah," he confirmed. "Where's my dad?"

"Your dad?"

"Yes." Irritation crept into his voice, but it was masked by Dean's obvious exhaustion. "Just let us go back to him."

She didn't understand. One, why did Dean want to go back to his father? He was the one who had pushed both brothers into such horrendous danger. And Dr. Gilmore had operated on him, after all, so she had seen the scarring and obvious evidence of abuse. "Dean… We've attempted to locate your father, but he left the motel you were staying at. There's been no sign of him since… Well, since last you saw him, I suppose."

Dean's face went slack. "He wouldn't…" He stopped. "Then how—then how did he pay for this? He must have wired some money over or… or…"

"No, Dean," she said. "He didn't. And you don't have to worry about paying for—"

"Then what happened? Who paid for it?"

"Dean, you don't have to—"

" _Who_?"

She sighed. "Technically, your hospital bills are unpaid right now, because CPS is still trying to find your father. However, if he goes permanently missing, then the hospital will pay for it."

"Why?"

She smiled sadly. "Because we want to help."

Dean's gaze darkened. "That's not true."

"Dean—"

"People don't do things for us unless they have to."

* * *

Two policemen arrived at the hospital at four to take the boys away. Dr. Gilmore checked every inch of Dean for injuries she could use as some sort of excuse, but her superiors had already approved him to leave. She stood at the door as they entered the room, watching helplessly as both boys began to shake in anticipation. The last time men had entered the room like this, they'd been torn apart.

"Dean and Sam Winchester?" the first said gruffly. He was a large man with a permanent glare, so Dr. Gilmore was not surprised when Dean slid in front of Sam. When Dean did not answer his original question, the policeman repeated himself. "Dean and Sam _Winchester?_ "

"Yes, Officer," she answered for them. She knew Dean would have trouble responding eloquently to someone as aggressive as him. "These are the boys."

The policeman scowled at her. "I don't think I asked you," he growled. "I have zero tolerance for this kind of attitude from these kids, and I don't make exceptions. Are you two Dean and Sam—"

"Yes, sir," Dean said quietly, his eyes directed at the man's feet. Dr. Gilmore was shocked. He had...submitted to the man so easily. No fight, no defiance… Just...submission.

"Good. Officer, if you would…"

The other man, younger and dark-haired, raised a pair of handcuffs and walked towards Sam. "No," Dean said quietly.

"No?"

"You can put me in cuffs, sir," he said darkly. "Not my brother."

The first policeman laughed. "You're not in much of a position to negotiate, boy."

Dr. Gilmore didn't miss how Dean's entire body tensed at the word _boy_. "Officer," she interjected, "Sam hasn't done anything. He's only seven years old; he's not a danger to anyone. There's no need for handcuffs."

The officer snorted. "Just doing my job, miss—"

"Doctor."

"What?"

"Dr. Gilmore. Now, I suggest you do as I've said or I'll make sure you never step foot in this hospital again."

"Careful," he replied, but he did not put the cuffs on Sam.

When they pulled the brothers apart, Dean let out a bloodcurdling scream and then began to cough, his breathing growing more shallow. "Dean!" The doctor ran forward, as did the second officer, and he made the mistake of touching Dean's arm. The boy lashed out and punched him in the face. He struggled to breathe, and Dr. Gilmore knew what would help. She pulled Sam from the first officer's arms and shoved him towards Dean. Suddenly, the boy relaxed, able to breathe once more.

Dr. Gilmore stared angrily at the policeman. "Don't separate them," she hissed.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! In the next chapter, we'll get to see more of Sonny.**


	13. Bad Boys

**A/N: I love this chapter. It's partially from Sonny's perspective.**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #303 (Road Trips)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #396 (can't use female characters)**

 **Disclaimer: SPN writers own Supernatural, not me.**

* * *

Dean and Sam clung to each other, terrified, in the back of the police car. Dean's arms were cuffed behind him, causing him terror-induced shallowness of breath, but other than that he was generally unharmed. Sam gripped his brother's jacket, white-knuckled and frightened. Dean kissed the top of his brother's head.

They pulled onto a long country road, and Dean willed himself to stay awake although he was exhausted. He couldn't leave Sam alone with the two men. Hours passed until finally the vehicle arrived at an off-white, three-story building surrounded by a huge field. Near the corner of the field was a large, red barn.

The policeman abruptly stopped the car and got out before yanking the door open from Sam's side. He grabbed the younger Winchester by the upper arm and began to pull him away from Dean. "No!" Sam cried, and his fists clenched tightly around Dean's jacket.

"No! Don't touch him! No!" His brother would have grabbed him, but his hands were cuffed behind him, so there was no way he could reach him. "Get your hands off him!" Sam's arms locked around Dean's, but the policeman was obviously much stronger than the seven-year-old, so he broke Sam's grip and took him, kicking and screaming, from the backseat. "Sammy!"

Dean, red with anger and breathlessness, slid over, trying to reach Sam. The handcuffs made his situation much more complicated. When the other policeman reached for him, pulling him out from the other side by his jacket, he struggled against him. However, the man was in no mood, and tossed him out of the car onto the dirt driveway. He could hear Sam crying, and he got a mouthful of dirt before reaching his feet and launching himself at the policeman. He was shoved backwards; with his hands restrained behind him, he lost his balance and fell back to the ground.

"Hey! _Hey!_ " From his position on the ground, Dean could see a man rushing towards them. "Officers!" He was followed by three or four boys around Dean's age.

"Sonny," the larger policeman growled. "We've got your boys." The other pulled Sam up by the scruff of his shirt while the other tossed the boys' things out of the police car.

"I've said it before," Sonny said, "and I'll say it again." Dean sat up, trying to slide over to his little brother, but the officer closest to him yanked him up. "Don't manhandle my kids."

"Just doing my job," he replied, ignoring Sonny's statement and tossing Dean forward. "You got 'em from here?"

Sonny hesitated, wanting to give them a piece of his mind, but he didn't want to argue further with the policemen. They were already doing him a favor by giving him the Winchester boys, after all. He didn't want the boys separated; his friend Dr. Gilmore had warned him severely against it. "Yes. Thank you."

The larger policeman nodded and turned away. Both got into their car and left with the sound of squealing tires and the smell of burnt rubber, leaving a cloud of dirt in their wake. Once it cleared, Dean and Sam were together again, the younger one gripping the elder tightly in fear. "Hey," Sonny said, smiling. "Welcome to Sonny's Home for Boys."

Jimmy Novak had been right; Sonny had never met anyone like the Winchesters. The older boy was of average height but was far too skinny for a kid his age. His arm and leg were encased in thick braces, and he hunched over as though he was in pain. His face and most of his exposed skin was littered with scars, some old and some new. Most of his left side was covered in dirt. He wore a tattered gray T-shirt and as well as a torn, thin jacket. His pants were too large, but were cinched around his waist with a thick brown belt and torn off just above the ankles. His hands were cuffed behind him, and it was obviously uncomfortable, so Sonny reached forward. "Here, let me—"

Dean jerked back so harshly that he nearly knocked into Sam. It took Sonny a moment to realize that Dean had moved in front of Sam as if to protect him. The younger boy was hidden behind Dean, both arms wrapped around the older boy's uninjured leg. He was half the size of the older boy - unusually small for his age - and so frightened that he was trembling. Dean was shaking as well, but Sonny wasn't sure if it was due to his injuries or his fear.

Sonny didn't dare move; he didn't want to scare them. Gently, he tried to reassure them. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "I'm just trying to—"

"Don't," Dean snapped.

Sonny raised his hands in surrender. "I just thought you'd want the handcuffs off, that's all," he explained. "I just want to help."

Dean bared his teeth like a dog and pushed Sam further behind him, putting himself between Sonny and the little boy. "Don't come any closer."

The other boys peered curiously at the new arrivals; Sonny quickly sent them inside to get ready for dinner. "Listen, Dean—it's Dean, right?" Dean had no reaction to his words. "And Sammy?" The little boy cowered, burying his face into Dean's pant leg.

"Sam," Dean said sharply. "His name is Sam."

"Sam. Right. I'm sorry. Sam, Dean...do you know why you're here?" Again, neither boy answered. "I'm going to take care of you until...someone comes to get you. There are eleven other boys here—you've seen a couple of them. They all live here right now, and they are all perfectly safe." Sonny smiled. "Do you want to come inside?"

No response.

"Here." Sonny fished into the inside of his jacket, and immediately both boys staggered backwards, suspicious and afraid. "No, no… Look, it's just a paperclip. See?" He raised the offensive object. "I'm going to unlock your handcuffs. You don't want to stay like that forever, do you?"

Dean stared at the ground, and then looked to his little brother. "Sammy," he said softly, "go stand over there."

Sam shook his head and held Dean tighter.

"Sam," the older brother warned, and finally, the little one let go, shuffling away from Dean to stand a few feet away. Then Dean turned around, head hanging, and clenched his fists. Sonny was uneasy with the way the boys treated him and each other; it was as if Dean was putting Sam out of danger at all costs. Sonny kneeled behind the boy and unwound the paperclip, unlocking the handcuffs relatively quickly.

"There," said Sonny, pulling the cuffs from Dean's wrists. He tried to ignore the welts that had formed there. "You're free."

Sam ran back to Dean and jumped into his arms, clasping his arms around his neck. Dean stumbled a little, unused to his brother's weight with the brace on his arm and leg, but held him nonetheless, carrying him as though Sam was much younger and Dean was much older. Dean whispered something to the younger boy, reassuring him and closing his eyes for a moment.

Sonny didn't know how to approach them. He'd dealt with boys from bad backgrounds before, of course, but never anything like this… "Listen, you might as well come inside. We're having dinner—you want something to eat?"

Dean only stared at him.

"I'm hungry," he heard the little boy whimper. "Can we?"

Dean looked from his skinny brother to the man in front of him and nodded cautiously.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! I'll get the next chapter up soon.**


	14. Regarding Dean

**If You Dare Challenge - #8 (Never bite the hand that feeds you)**

 **October Writing Month (1197)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #214 (Pizza)**

 **356 Prompts Challenge - #148 (hurt/comfort)**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

The boisterousness in the other boys obviously bothered Dean. Sonny observed that he was always trying to put himself between the other boys and his brother, but it was impossible with the number of children at Sonny's place. He tried to balance the volume of his voice; if he spoke too quietly, then the children would ignore him, but if he spoke too loudly, both Sam and Dean feel threatened, sometimes visibly shaking in fear.

It was Mason's turn to set the table that night, so as soon as Sonny finished cooking, he told all the boys to meet in the dining room so he could introduce their new arrivals. "This is Sam and Dean Winchester," he said, gesturing to the boys. "They're going to stay with us for a while."

One of the more rambunctious boys piped up. "What'd he do?" he said, jerking his chin at Sam. "Rob a toy store?"

A few chuckles erupted from the boys, but Sonny cut them off with a quick glare. "Unless you want to be cleaning the barn for the next month, _Ethan_ , I suggest you show our new guests some respect." He instructed the rest of the boys to introduce themselves, and the first boy immediately stepped up.

He smiled at the Winchesters. "I'm Castiel." Castiel was one of his nicest kids; he never fought, talked back, or refused to do his chores. He'd only ever seen the boy get angry when the older boys started picking on the younger ones. Castiel was the mediator; he was the peacekeeper. He'd been here for almost three years and had been a blessing for Sonny. "Welcome to Sonny's."

Dean had not let go of Sam since Sonny had removed his handcuffs, but he could tell that Dean's arms were trembling. "Sam, Dean? Would you like to tell us something about yourselves?"

Dean merely scowled at the other boys, wrapping his arms around his brother, and Sam buried his head in Dean's shoulder. "Any of you touch my brother," he said finally, "and I'll kill you myself."

Dinner was quiet that evening. Dean and Sam were extremely uncomfortable with the entire situation; their anxiety radiated over the table. Sam was so terrified that he needed constant comfort from Dean; their chairs were pressed together, and Sam was practically sitting in Dean's lap. They hadn't touched their food, so Sonny cleared his throat. "You can start eating, boys."

Sam looked to Dean, panicked. Dean glared at Sonny, but reluctantly tasted the mashed potatoes in front of him, then the pizza. He nodded to Sam once he had, and the boy took a few seconds of hesitation before devouring his food as though he hadn't seen a proper meal in days. The thought rang in his head like a bell until he realized that the boys actually hadn't seen a proper meal in _days_. Weeks, even. He took another good look at the boys; they were _thin_. Every bone in their bodies seemed to be protruding slightly as though they had no fat on them at all.

Dean, although he was much skinnier than his brother, barely touched his food. He looked longingly at it—he couldn't hide his hunger—but he bit his lip as if to stop himself from eating. Sam, however, devoured his food and gazed at the bowl of mashed potatoes, licking his lips. He glanced at Dean for permission, which was granted with a subtle jerk of his chin. Sam made a tiny, excited sound in response and began happily serving himself. "You can eat, too, if you'd like, Dean," Sonny said. "There's more than enough for everyone."

Dean responded by slowly scraping his food onto his brother's plate. The other boys around the table watched the brothers' interaction, mildly curious. Throughout the meal, Dean ate only one bite of each food item. Soon, the boys were taking their plates into the kitchen. "Dean," Sonny said, and the boy flinched. "You've got to eat something—I can make you something else if you want."

Dean shook his head, picking Sam up. "I'm fine, sir," he said.

"Are you sure?"

His expression was cold. "Yes, sir."

Sonny assumed that the ride or something else had made him nauseous; he would make sure Dean ate in the morning. "Well, we might as well get you two situated, hm? Follow me."

The boys hesitantly followed him. Dean put Sam down and held his hand as they went up the stairs. Sonny gestured to the large room where the kids slept. "You'll sleep in here." He pushed the door open, revealing a roomful of bunk beds. I usually put your beds in age order, but I thought you would want to be near each other, so you've got one bunk bed all to yourselves. You can write your name on a piece of paper and tape it up there. The blankets and everything are clean, so there's no need to worry about that…" Sonny racked his head for more information he needed to tell them. "Ah… Do you boys have your things?" Dean raised a small bag. "That all?" He nodded. "Do you have… a toothbrush, pajamas, all that?"

Dean nodded again while Sam shook his head. Dean looked down at Sonny's shoes. "We're fine, sir."

Sonny quickly realized that Sam and Dean did not have everything they needed. "It's alright. We'll get you new stuff; for now, one of the other boys can lend you some pajamas. I've got extra toothbrushes in the bathroom in the cabinet. If there's anything else you need, just ask."

As it turned out, Castiel and a few of the other boys were more than willing to share their belongings with the Winchesters. Grateful, Sonny placed the items on their respective beds and told Sam and Dean, "Write your birthday into the calendar, boys. If it happens while we're here, we don't want to miss it."

Dean lifted Sam up to the hanging calendar so he could write in his own birthday: May 2nd. However, when it came to be Dean's turn, the older boy stopped. Dates ran through his mind: November 2nd, the day his mother died; August 11th, Sammy's first day of school; February 26th, the first time he killed a monster… He didn't know his birthday. He had a fuzzy memory of a cake and some candles, but no date. He put the marker down.

Sam pulled at his brother's pant leg. "Dean?"

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"Why didn't you eat anything at dinner?"

Dean's face hardened, and he glanced around for other people before answering. Except instead of English, it was in a different language." _Scis_ , Sammy…"

The little boy frowned. " _Vos autem putat_ —"

" _Ita_."

"Oh."

" _Audite me_ , Sammy, _hic vos can non tantum…_ comfortable, _bene_? _Mihi non placet_ … _His autumn non maneat_. _Nos_ _postulo ut_ Dad."

" _Autem_ Daddy—"

" _Nee illi_. _Invocate eum dum odit_."

" _I paenitet…_ "

Sonny cleared his throat and entered the room, smiling at the two boys. "You finish up?"

Surprised by his arrival, Dean pushed Sam behind him. "Yes, sir," he said.

"You don't have to call me 'sir,'" Sonny told him. It was polite but unnecessary. "'Sonny' is fine."

Dean didn't answer.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! For those of you who don't read Latin, like me, here's the translation. If you do read Latin, I'm sorry because I just used Google translate to get my Latin for the boys.**

 _ **Scis**_ **= You know  
 _Vos autem putat_ = You think that  
 _Ita_ = yes  
 _Audite me_ = listen to me  
 _Hic vos can non tantum_ "comfortable," _bene?_ = you can't get comfortable here, okay?  
 _Mihi non placet_ = I don't like  
 _Hic autem non maneat_ = we will not stay here  
 _Nos postulo ut Dad_ = We need to find Dad  
 _Autem_ = but  
 _Nee illi_ = don't call him that  
 _Invocate ehm dum_ _odit_ = He hates it when you call him that  
 _I paenitet_ = I'm sorry  
**


	15. As Time Goes By

**Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #401 (can't use the word can't)**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #16 (Settling in for a long siege)**

 **Fanfiction Writing Month: October [1070]**

 **Disclaimer: The SPN writers own _Supernatural_.**

* * *

Sonny told them to go play, but he knew they wouldn't listen. He frequently checked on them, but they merely stayed in the corner of the kitchen, muttering to each other. As he listened closer, he heard words he didn't recognize. Was that… Latin? These Winchesters truly were remarkable children.

When finally nine o'clock came, he announced it was time to go to bed. "Toothbrushes and pajamas are on your beds, boys," he told them. "The second bathroom on the right is all yours until nine fifteen, so I'd hop in the shower now. If there's anything else you need, you can just come get me, okay?"

Dean, as usual, answered with a quiet "Yes, sir." Sam nodded, grasping Dean's hand.

He had had so many boys in this house; he knew exactly what they were going to do.

Dean led Sam up the stairs. He collected their items from the bed and ushered his brother into the bathroom. "Remember what I said, Sammy," Dean reminded him. "We're not staying for long. Here." He handed him a toothbrush. "Is there toothpaste up there?"

Sam nodded.

"Need help reaching it?"

He nodded again.

Dean reached for it, unscrewing the cap and handing it to him. As Sam brushed his teeth, Dean tried to get into the shower, but he soon found that it was difficult for him to take off his pants without a lot of pain. "Sammy?" he called out, his voice strained.

His little brother wiped his mouth, hopping down for the stool. "Yeah, Dean?"

"Can you…"

Sam nodded. He helped Dean remove his clothing with as little pain as possible. Dean didn't want to take a shower for two reasons: one, he knew the soap would burn against his wounds; and two, he had to remove his arm and leg braces to do so, and both limbs were shaky and weak. His father would be ashamed of him. But he did want to wash the dirt away before he and Sam left. Besides, he didn't want to draw attention to himself. So he stepped into the shower, wincing as the hot spray hit his back and leg.

Sam helped him dry off; he hated having his little brother take care of him, but he didn't have much choice. Dean had an incredibly high pain tolerance for a twelve-year-old, but even he was unable to function normally after what he'd been through. "Now, get in the shower, Sammy," Dean told him playfully. "You stink."

Sam and Dean were out of the bathroom in eight minutes flat; they didn't want to anger Sonny. They sat in the top half of their bunk bed (it was more secluded than the bottom), Sam speaking in rapid sign. They were planning to leave Sonny's place that night at two in the morning—if they left too early after everyone had gone to sleep, they would most certainly get caught. Dean had learned (through experience) that two or three was the best time to sneak out.

TWO, Dean signed. THEN WINDOW GO.

BATHROOM WINDOW GO? Sam asked.

YES.

QUIET GO?

YES QUIET, SAMMY. Dean's sign for his brother was intimate; he doubted anyone knew what it meant. It was a combination of I LOVE YOU and PROTECT; in his right hand, his first finger, thumb, and pinkie were extended, and his left hand was in a fist. When signing it, he crossed his arms over his chest.

TOOTHBRUSH TAKE?

Dean frowned. He didn't even know Sam knew the sign for toothbrush. TOOTHBRUSH NO OURS. NO TAKE.

PAJAMAS TAKE?

YES. PAJAMAS MUST TAKE.

OKAY.

WHEN GO BATHROOM YOU, OPEN WINDOW AND WAIT.

WHY?

NEED THING TO PROTECT US.

WHAT?

KNIFE. SALT. ANOTHER KNIFE.

STEAL YOU?

YES. When Sam's hands fell, Dean added, SORRY.

NICE SONNY. For Sonny's sign, he used addressed him with as MISTER and added an S after it.

NO SAMMY. HOW KNOW NICE SONNY? Unlike Sam, Dean referred to Sonny as MONSTER and S.

Sam shrugged. SONNY GIVE CLOTHES US. SONNY TAKE… He frowned, hesitating, and then fingerspelled H-A-N-D-C-U-F-F-S.

SAMMY—

NO NO. SONNY GIVE FOOD US. Sam looked, helpless, at Dean. SONNY GIVE FOOD ME.

KNOW US MONSTERS GIVE FOOD. REMEMBER? PLACE I-L MONSTER GIVE FOOD US.

Sam flinched violently. He went white, shaking and sweating as though he was going to be sick. He curled his arms around his knees.

Dean apologized quickly, signing SORRY over and over until Sam looked up at him again.

OKAY ME, Sam signed slowly, but Dean could see how pale he was now.

COME. HUG.

Sam shuffled across the bed into his brother's arms. Dean rubbed Sam's back until he seemed okay again. OKAY YOU? he asked after releasing him and sitting in front of him.

OKAY. NO LIKE TALK—NO LIKE REMEMBER…

ME TOO. SORRY SCARE YOU. WANT SAFE YOU.

Sam gave his brother a sad smile. UNDERSTAND.

FORGIVE ME YOU?

YES. FORGIVE YOU.

THANK YOU.

Sam smiled again, happier this time. SLOW YOU, he signed. NEED PRACTICE YOU.

Dean stuck out his tongue at his brother. BREAK ARMS YOU THEN TELL NEED PRACTICE.

Sam laughed out loud, but cut himself off abruptly at the sound of Sonny's voice. "Time for bed, boys," he announced. "Jaime, come on. Put the cards away."

"But—"

"No buts, Jaime. Put them away or give them to me."

The dark-haired boy reluctantly stuffed the cards back into their box and pushed it onto his nightstand. Sonny went through the center of the room, giving several orders to boy after boy. Finally, he reached Sam and Dean and sighed. "Sam, you want to get in your own bed?"

Sam curled both fists into Dean's shirt and shook his head. Neither boys had spent a night willingly away from one another; they had only been apart when Sam's foster mother had forced Sam to stay away from Dean and a few times when either boy had been taken by monsters. "He's staying with me," Dean growled.

Sonny knew that separating them was trouble; Dr. Gilmore had warned him against it. "Okay," he said, "but your bed's still there if you want it, Sam."

Sonny knew they were planning to run. When he entered the boys' room again, their breathing was not deep and even like the rest, although it was close. So, he made himself a extra large cup of coffee, opened up a book, and settled in for a long siege.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! I'll post the next chapter soon. We'll see what happens with Sonny and the boys.**


	16. Breakdown

**If You Dare Challenge - #886 (Suffocating)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #660 (Kitchen table)**

 **Fanfiction Writing Month: October [1461]**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

It was difficult for Sam to stay awake (and more so than usual for Dean because he was weaker), so they practiced their Morse code in the dark, tapping gently on the arms and legs of the other in order to communicate and keep their eyes open. Unlike Latin, John had not taught them ASL or Morse code; they had learned those two languages on their own. Both boys had been kidnapped or held captive multiple times when dragged into their father's hunts, and when their voices were somehow unable to be used (or it would be dangerous to do so), they had to figure out other ways to communicate. If they wanted to speak about their father's work outside of the car or the motel without being heard, they would switch into one of their other three languages: Latin, ASL, or Morse code. Dean was the best at Morse code; he'd had more occasion to use it during hunts. Sam was particularly fond of Latin, while Dean's actual favorite was sign language.

Dean watched the hour hand finally fall on the two, and then gently shook his brother awake, pressing I LOVE YOU into his brother's hand to let him know that everything was okay. Once Sam awoke, rubbing his eyes sleepily, he tapped his finger against his brother's palm. _Long._ Pause. _Short. Short._ Pause. _Long. Long._ Pause. _Short._

Morse code took much longer than ASL to communicate with, so Dean switched to his hands. Although it was difficult to see in the dark, in the light of the moon Sam could make out Dean's words. BATHROOM GO NOW.

OKAY. Sam nodded, going down the ladder.

Sam slipped past the rows of sleeping boys and pushed the door open, sliding between the small crack between the wall and the door. Dean closed his eyes, counted to ten, and then followed him.

Sonny was nearly asleep when he first heard the stairs creak. After one, he doubted they'd try to run away, but he waited nonetheless. He watched as the older Winchester snuck down the stairs, unusually quiet for an adolescent boy, and slipped into the kitchen. Sonny's form was shrouded by darkness; Dean didn't notice him. Sonny didn't see Sam coming behind him, so he decided to wait for the younger boy to join them so he could talk to them both.

Dean pulled open the cabinets with odd precision until he located a small, round cylindrical container: salt. Then he took something from the kitchen table and stepped to the right; Sonny's stomach dropped. Dean was holding a kitchen knife. He was reaching for another when Sonny spoke his name in a warning tone, startling him so badly that he jumped. Dean's eyes went wide, his gaze glistening with terror, and he tried to run back up the stairs. However, it wasn't easy with his two casts, so Sonny caught up to him easily. Dean whipped around, brandishing the knife, and Sonny was surprised how professional his attacks were.

Dean was not only fighting him; Dean was _fighting_ him. His hits were practiced, his kicks were well-aimed, and his jabs with the knife were dangerous. If he had been up to his full strength, Dean would have easily stabbed him.

Once Sonny pried the knife from his grip, Dean twisted around, trying to get free and run. "Jesus—Dean! Dean, stop! Just calm _down_!" Sonny used his size to his advantage and, after much effort, trapped Dean's arms at his sides. As he did so, he sensed the boy's fear multiply, and he started to cough, rasping and struggling for air like he was suffocating. Sonny immediately let him go, telling him to calm down. Then he heard a squeaky "Dean?" from the top of the stairs, and everything escalated impossibly fast.

Sam's eyes flickered from Dean, who was barely able to breathe, to Sonny, who was holding a large kitchen knife. Sonny dropped the knife, kicking across the floor and saying, "Sam, listen, I—" but it was too late. His eyes glistened with rage Sonny had only previously seen in Dean, and he flew at him in a flurry of nails and teeth and little feet. "Sam—stop—hey, cut it out—" Sonny didn't want to make any offensive movements against Sam, but the boy kept attacking him, his nails scratching his face.

"S'm—" Dean was gasping, sucking in air is if through a straw. Sam immediately went to his brother, whispering frantically— " _Esne bene? Nocuerunt tibi?" —_ while Sonny winced, touching the multiple scratches covering his face. When Sonny attempted to reassure the boys again, he only made the situation worse; Dean clawed at his chest while Sam picked up the knife off of the floor, directing it at the man in front of them. When Dean made an odd choking noise, Sam placed the knife beside them on the stairs and grabbed his brother.

"Dean, Dean—come on, breathe—please—" Dean seemed to calm down once Sam's arms were around him, his eyes settling on his brother and his movements stilling. Sonny relaxed, relieved, as he heard Dean breathe again.

"Dean?" he said gently. "You okay?"

Dean glared at him, standing up. Sam pointed the kitchen knife at him.

Sonny licked his lips nervously. "Listen… You were trying to run tonight, right?" Dean pushed Sam behind him, taking the weapon from his little brother and gripping it tightly. "Boys…" He gulped. "I know this hasn't been easy for you, alright? But running away won't solve anything, you understand? If you walk out that door, CPS will track you two down. Sam's too young to just fall off the radar—both of you are. They'll separate you for sure; Dean, they will _take_ Sam from you. You'll go to juvy, and I doubt you'll see each other for at least a year or two except through phone calls and maybe supervised visits." He ran his hand through his hair. "This is the best place for you right now."

"De—" Sam whimpered.

Dean stopped him. "He's right." His throat was still tight from his coughing fit, so his words were tainted with remnants of it. He closed his eyes, pressing his mouth together in a thin line. "Sam," he rasped finally, opening his eyes and dropping the knife, "go back upstairs."

Sam's reaction surprised Sonny. He shook his head, eyes practically popping out of his head in fear. "No, no, Dean, don't—"

"Sammy," Dean said softly, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Go back upstairs. I'll be up soon."

Sonny didn't understand why Sam was getting so emotional; tears dripped down his face as he turned to go up the stairs. Dean watched him go and faced Sonny, his eyes glued to the floor. "I know you're angry," Dean said, "but you don't touch Sam, okay? He had nothing to do with any of this."

"Dean—"

"It was all my idea. Leaving...and everything. He didn't—none of this was his fault. It was me. Sam didn't do anything. So you punish me, okay? Not Sam. Punish me."

Sonny frowned. "Dean—" He was interrupted by the sound of Dean's belt unbuckling. "Dean, wha—"

He stopped. Dean was holding out his belt to him, head bowed. When Sonny didn't move to take it from him, his whole body shuddered, and he placed the belt between them. Then he backed up and turned around, kneeling awkwardly on the ground and lacing his fingers together behind his head. Sonny stood still behind the boy, barely able to comprehend what was happening. Dean expected him to… Sonny's eyes traced the boy's hands. They were covered in scars. He wondered if the rest of Dean's skin matched. "Dean…" The boy jerked slightly; it took Sonny a moment to understand he was expecting Sonny to hit him.

Sonny felt his heart clench terribly. "Dean, I'm not—" His voice broke. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Dean didn't answer.

"I'm not gonna punish" —he stumbled over the word— "you, Dean." He circled around him, kneeling in front of the boy. "Running away… Most of my boys try it the first or second night they're here. I don't blame them, and I certainly won't blame you. You tried to leave because you didn't feel safe, and I understand. I'm going to try to make you feel as safe as possible, Dean, because I don't want you to feel like you are in danger here.

"When you're here, under my roof, you're safe." Dean's eyes were squeezed shut. "Dean, look at me."

Sickeningly obedient, Dean forced his eyes to Sonny's. "Sir?"

"You're safe here," he repeated. "I'm not going to hurt you." He handed the belt back to the boy. "You're safe."

Dean looked up, confused, at Sonny, his hands closing around the leather strap.

* * *

 **A/N: Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading! Next chapter soon!**


	17. There Will Be Blood

**A/N: Not a whole lot happens in this chapter, but I thought it needed to happen.**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #339 (Going to School)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #589 (punctual)**

 **Fanfiction Writing Month: October [1058]**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Sonny sent Dean to bed after that, and as soon as Dean entered the room, Sam rushed at him, signing so frantically that Dean could barely understand him. WHERE HURT YOU? WHERE HURT YOU? he repeated, thoroughly checking Dean for injuries.

Dean shook his head. NO HURT. SONNY NO PUNISH.

SONNY NO PUNISH YOU? Sam shook with fear. SONNY PUNISH ME?

NO, NO, Dean assured him. GO BED YOU.

Sam climbed up the bunk bed ladder as instructed. Once both Winchester boys were in the bed, Sam asked his question again.

NO, SAMMY, Dean said. SONNY NO PUNISH YOU. He stopped. SONNY TIRED. MORNING PUNISH ME. NO PUNISH YOU. OKAY?

WHAT IF SONNY PUNISH ME INSTEAD? Sam looked up at Dean. WANT ME SONNY PUNISH ME NO YOU.

Dean nearly growled out loud. NO.

DEAN—

NO SAMMY NEVER.

DEAN WAIT PLEASE. Dean stopped, biting his lip and letting his brother continue. AFTER CAR AND SICK, HURT BAD YOU. HURT BAD YOU STILL. IF SONNY PUNISH YOU, THEN DIE YOU. His shoulders slumped. SO SONNY PUNISH ME NO YOU.

SAMMY NO NO LET YOU. Dean shook his head. NEVER WANT HURT YOU. BETTER PUNISH ME. OKAY?

Sam nodded. OKAY.

SLEEP NOW YOU? Dean asked.

YES. TIRED ME. YOU?

YES. Dean usually would stay awake to watch Sam, but his illness, injuries, and terror had kept him at an intense state of awareness for the entire day, so he was so exhausted that he went right to sleep. Throughout the rest of the night, he would wake up, terrified, thinking that Sonny would come into the room to punish them. He hated that Sonny had not punished him when he was ready; now, he was forced to spend every waking (and sleeping) moment panicking that Sonny was coming for him.

John Winchester, as a former Marine, was incredibly punctual. He had always made Dean wake up at 5:00 exactly to do training exercises. Dean and Sam called it 'John Winchester Boot Camp,' but never in English; their father would beat them black and blue if he ever heard it. In ASL, they shortened it to J-W CAMP, and in Morse code it was simply _JWBC_. They used it so often that it was impossible to forget during their non-English conversations.

So Dean woke up abruptly at 5:00 for the first time to the absence of the shouts or fists of his father. To be honest, it unnerved Dean. He was...terrified. Whenever silence confronted Dean at this time, it meant one of three things. One, he and Sam were alone at the motel, usually left with a few dollars to provide for their basic needs. Two, he, with or without Sam, had been captured by one of the monsters their father chased. And three, John had drunk himself into such a stupor that he was unable to wake Dean up. The third option was by far the scariest, for it was usually followed by a round of beatings that left him barely able to protect his brother.

Dean sat up, shivering, both arms wrapped tightly around Sam. He was still tired, but now he had to protect Sammy. He remained on high alert until 6:30, when Sonny came in, flickering the lights on and off. "Time to get up, boys!" Various groans and protests echoed around the room in response. "Breakfast will be ready in 20 minutes. Dean" —both Winchesters flinched— "could I have a word with you?"

Dean, torn between staying with his brother and bringing him into Sonny's dangerous range, nodded solemnly and signed to Sam. STAY YOU. NO FOLLOW. KNIFE UNDER PILLOW. STAY SAFE.

TIME SONNY PUNISH?

YES. SORRY.

Sam frowned. NO SORRY. CAREFUL YOU. HEAL YOU ME WHEN BACK YOU.

OKAY. I LOVE YOU.

I LOVE YOU, TOO.

Dean climbed down the bunk bed ladder and followed the line of boys to meet Sonny at the door. "Yes, sir?" Dean asked. Sonny was disappointed to see that none of his words had taken with Dean; the older Winchester was still afraid of him and continued to call him "sir."

"Well," said Sonny, "each new arrival here gets to choose their first breakfast. I was just wondering what you'd like."

Dean's brow wrinkled. "Wh-what?"

"What you want for breakfast… I can make eggs, pancakes, waffles… Even grits if you want 'em. What do you feel like having?"

Dean simply shrugged. "Whatever is easiest, sir."

"Dean, you don't have to call me sir. You can call me Sonny."

"Sorry."

Sonny smiled. "Don't be sorry, kid. Do you like pancakes?"

Again, he shrugged. "Whatever's easiest, sir."

After realizing that Dean did not plan on giving him a straight answer, he moved on. "So, Dean… Today is Friday. All the other boys are going to school except Castiel—he goes to the private school, and they've got the day off today."

"Teacher retreat day," someone chimed in from behind him. Dean jumped, his hand moving to his chest. It wasn't an action of fear, however, as it was an attempt to grab something, like a reflex of sorts.

Sonny frowned. "Right. So I was thinking maybe we could take a little shopping trip? You, me, Castiel, and Sam? Rosa'll be here in about half an hour."

"Rosa's basically the head of the house," Castiel said, leaning in from his top bunk. He was barely a foot from Sonny. "Sonny just does what she says." He grinned.

Sonny smiled. This boy… "Well, he's not wrong…" Dean shifted uncomfortably under Sonny and Castiel's combined gaze. He just wanted to get back to Sam. Sonny continued, "Anyway, we'll get all your papers and everything ready over the weekend so you can start school on Monday. In the meantime, we'll go get you some clothes, school supplies… Anything you want, really. Castiel, do you want to join us?"

The boy's brilliant blue eyes sparkled, and Dean shivered. "Of course," he said. "Dean, are you okay with that? I can stay home and work if you want."

Dean wasn't familiar with people asking for his permission or preference, so he merely nodded, knowing that the best answer was always to give in. "I won't go without Sam," he said quietly. His only acts of defiance were ever to protect Sam.

"Don't worry," Sonny said. "Sam needs to go shopping, too. You won't have to leave his side."

* * *

 **A/N: The next chapter will get into how Dean reacts in public places. Thanks for reading!**


	18. The Bad Place

**A/N: Ooh, hope you guys like this one!**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #548 (Dead Eyes)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It - #222 (bananas)**

 **Fanfiction Writing Month: October [1260]**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

After the other boys left for school, Dean, Sam, Castiel, and Sonny all sat down for a quiet breakfast of banana pancakes and bacon. However, like the night before, Dean barely touched his food. He only took a single bite of each item and then gave permission to his brother to eat. "Dean—" Sonny hesitated. He didn't want to pressure him. "Dean, aren't you hungry?"

Dean's hunger was obvious; he was practically drooling over the food. Yet still his plate remained full. "No, sir."

"Dean—son, you have to eat _something_. You haven't eaten anything since… Since when?"

Dean stared at his plate.

"Dean?"

"No, sir," he repeated. "Not hungry."

"Can I make you something else? We've got all kinds of fruit, leftover burgers, pasta… Anything?"

"No, sir."

Sam tugged on Dean's jacket. "Dean," he whispered. "Dean, you have to eat. The doctor said you had to eat, or you'd…" He swallowed. "Dean, _obsecro_ …"

Dean looked, broken, at his little brother.

"Dean," said Sonny. "Why aren't you eating?"

Dean's haunted gaze caught Sonny's. "Sir," he said weakly, and he stood. "You still haven't…" He glanced fearfully at Castiel. Sonny quickly motioned for him to leave and for Dean to continue. "Haven't… punished me, sir."

Sonny slumped. "Son, I'm not going to hurt you, okay? Ever. I've never laid a hand on any of my boys, and I will _never_ lay a hand on you. But… what does that have to do with eating?"

Sonny watched Dean organize his response in his head before speaking. "Because, sir," he said, "when the punishments get bad—and I know you'll punish me...badly—it'll be hard to… hard to keep it down. And I don't want to...throw up." He cringed. "It'll be bad, with my...condition. It'll…" Dean's eyes danced over the kitchen floor, frightened. Sonny took a step closer to Dean: big mistake. Dean's face, vulnerable with pain and terror, completely shut down. His mouth went slack, his eyes went dead, and his arms snapped to his sides. "I'm ready for any punishment you deem necessary, sir. I will take it without complaint."

Sonny then knew with terrifying certainty that Dean's unusual soldier-like demeanor had been beaten, literally, into him. He stepped back again, holding back tears, until the door opened. It was Rosa; the Hispanic woman had finished taking the boys to school and now had returned to take care of the farm while Sonny was off with the boys.

* * *

Sonny brought the boys to a store only thirty minutes away. "Pick anything you want. As long as it fits and it's comfortable, you can have it. Get seven of each: pants, shirts, socks, underwear… Anything, okay?"

Dean grasped Sam's hand tighter. "Yes, sir." He had not let go of his younger brother's hand since they got in the car. The two boys turned into one of the aisles of clothing. Immediately, they slipped into Latin, uncomfortable with being surrounded by all of the other customers. Castiel followed them. Dean picked out the cheapest clothing he could find; Cas shook his head. "Those tear easily," he commented quietly, referring to the pair of jeans Dean was holding. "You don't want them if you're going to be working on the farm with us. They'll be useless by the second day."

Dean cautiously put them back. Castiel picked out some jeans for him instead, saying, "These come in any color you want, really. Plus, they're the best pants for the farm. They do shrink a lot when you put them in the wash for the first time, though, so get a size bigger than what you wear."

Dean wrung his hands and signed to Sam. He could barely look at Castiel without flushing with embarrassment. TELL HIM?

WHAT TELL HIM?

SIZE DON'T KNOW. WEAR SIR CLOTHES ALWAYS. 'SIR' was how they always referred to their father when using ASL. Technically, it also meant 'MASTER.' It was his most preferred title.

JACKET SIZE HAVE YOU?

He shook his head. TOO SMALL.

"Is everything okay?" Castiel asked, squinting at the two boys. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

Sam looked up at his brother, grabbed his hand, and then glanced at Cas. "Dean doesn't know his size," he said. "We don't usually… He wears our dad's clothes."

Cas smiled. "That's fine. They have dressing rooms here; you can try it on."

Dean looked at the ground. He barely felt comfortable getting undressed, let alone undressing in a confined space surrounded by dozens of people. No. No way in _hell_. Dean gulped. But he didn't want to get punished… And they did need clothes… Dean nodded. Cas smiled. "Awesome! You'll need a few more than that, though. Sonny will barely let you walk out of here with any less than eight of everything."

Dean paled. He didn't want to make Sonny angry. So he found a few more flannels that seemed generally his size, a couple more pairs of pants, a olive green jacket, some socks, and underwear. Castiel found him a pair of shoes that he liked, and luckily he could try those on while in the store and without showing any skin.

Once they found the dressing room, a blonde woman smiled and greeted them. "You need a room?" she asked, approaching them.

Instinctively, Dean stepped in front of Sam, saying nothing.

Cas smiled at her. "Yeah. Just one is fine."

"How many of you will be trying on clothes?" she asked.

"Just those two," he said. "I'll just wait out here."

"Alright. Two rooms, then?" She picked up two keys off of the hook on the wall.

"No, just one," Castiel clarified. "They want to stay together, right?"

Dean nodded slowly, glancing cautiously at the woman.

"I'm sorry, but only one customer is allowed per dressing room. You two can have rooms right next to each other, see?"

Dean didn't want to argue with her, and he also didn't want Sonny to have any more reason to punish him. HAVE KNIFE YOU?

Sam nodded.

OKAY. STAY SAFE YOU SAMMY. I LOVE YOU. Dean hugged his little brother tightly.

Upon entering the dressing room, Dean was comforted by the sound of Sam's humming on the other side of their shared wall. He tried on a couple of the shirts, trying not to look in the mirror; he hated mirrors.

He had spent only a few minutes in the dressing room before his breathing grew hoarse. The white walls blurred around him; the room twisted and tightened until he was gasping, hyperventilating until he couldn't breathe.

 _Four white walls and a bucket. That's all he had. Dean screamed at the white door but no one answered, not even the ghost who shut him in here in the first place._

 _He cried, clawing at the walls until his fingers bled; he didn't know how much time had passed or how long until the next ghostly visit came. He didn't know where Sammy was; he didn't know how long he had until the terrible pale man in the white coat returned to hurt him._

Dean saw the red streaks on the walls, and he screamed, crouching down into the corner. He could see the man coming for him… He didn't want to hurt again. The door swung open, and Dean let out a bloodcurdling sound and tightened into a ball.

 _The door opened so harshly that it slammed against the wall. In the doorway stood his captor, a pale man in a bloodstained lab coat with a sickening, crazed smile and wild, yellow eyes. He licked his lips, grinned, and lunged._

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! Please favorite, follow, and review!**

 _ **obsecro**_ **= please**


	19. The Curious Case of Dean Winchester

**A/N: Thanks so much to everyone's support so far!**

 **Fanfiction Writing Month: October [1289]**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #418 (Broken Past)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #150 (silver)**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Sonny rushed into the dressing room area; as soon as Dean had not responded to Castiel's words, he had gone to get him. Now he entered a terrifying scene. Sam was wild and crazed in desperation to reach Dean, hitting the employee (her silver nametag read _Cherie_ ) with all of his might. Dean was screaming bloody murder inside his dressing room, and Sonny yanked at the door handle in an attempt to reach him. It was locked. "Dean!" he cried out, slamming his palm against the door. "Dean!" Suddenly, it dawned on him. "Key…" Just as Sam tore from Cherie's grasp and crawled beneath the door, Sonny turned to her with an outstretched hand, angry. "Key!"

She threw it at him immediately, and he stuck the key into the lock as the screaming made way for a round of hysterical sobs. He swung open the door to find Sam and Dean, foreheads pressed together and rocking. Sam, seemed far older than his seven years as he comforted his older brother, smoothing his hair down and whispering to him. "It's okay, Dean," said Sam, trying to keep himself together as well. "You're okay. He's not here. He's not here. You're okay. You're safe." When he received no response, he tried again, this time in Latin. " _Non est hic,_ Dean, _obsecro… Et dixistis liberati sumus._ " _He is not here, Dean, please... And you're safe._ Slowly, Dean began to uncurl from his fetal position, eyes trained on his brother, sobs fading. " _Hie ego sum,_ Dean, _ego huc…_ " _I'm here, Dean, I'm here._ Sonny watched the younger boy and realized that he signed as he spoke and was careful not to trap or confine Dean in any way. OKAY YOU, Sam signed gently. D-M NOT HERE. SAFE YOU. SAFE ME. D-M NOT HERE. NO HURT YOU. OKAY YOU. I LOVE YOU. SAFE YOU. NO LEAVE YOU ME. When Dean's eyes refocused on Sam's hands, he repeated his words, adding, YOUR SAMMY HERE AND NO LEAVE YOU.

Sonny watched the boys' strange interactions, remembering what Dr. Gilmore had told him about them. _They're very...codependent on one another_ , she had said, her tone careful and concerned. _They can barely function when the other is absent, but I think it's more than that. They've grown up in an environment so violent that… that they only knew they were safe when the other was physically there. Sam needed Dean to protect him, and Dean… Dean needed to know that Sam was okay. When they didn't have each other, it meant… Well, it could only mean something was wrong._

Codependency was the only way he could think to describe it. Sam's reliance on Dean for protection had been obvious when they had first arrived, but now he realized that this codependency had many more bridges between the two boys. They needed to always be around each other; he'd never seen them more than a foot away from each other unless they were forced to be. It seemed to Sonny that Dean relied on Sam to be his sole purpose in life. And as he had seen in this moment, Dean depended completely on Sam for his mental and emotional stability.

As Cas explained to him at the end of their outing, Dean also relied on Sam to do all of the talking. When faced with an uncomfortable situation, Dean either switched into sign language or refused to speak at all. Sam simply took over as a sort of translator for Dean.

As Sonny learned the following week, Sam was not only translated for Dean, but did something for Dean that explained even more of their codependency.

Sonny received the Winchester's school records, personal information, and medication on Saturday. He began giving Dean his painkillers and other pills alongside his meals. At first, his reaction was quite violent, but as soon as Dr. Gilmore arrived and explained the necessity of the medication to the boys, Dean finally began to listen, taking it when he was told. Dean also began to eat more, mostly after Sam's pleading, but it put him in a much more vulnerable state around Sonny. Sonny wasn't sure that Dean would ever feel comfortable around him.

Sonny flipped open Dean's file. Maybe, just maybe, something inside of here would help Sonny make the boys feel safe at his home.

The file started at preschool when Dean was three and extended to the present year.

 _DEAN WINCHESTER_

 _Age: 3_

 _Teacher: Mrs. Wong_

 _Dean is a bright boy. He seems to be overly attached to his mother. He has a little trouble listening but is generally a very happy and excited child. He plays with all of the other students, even those who are more shy than the others. He's clearly intelligent; he's learned to speak with one of the other boys in Spanish so that they could play games together. I'm very proud of his work this year._

The progress report at four-year-old Dean was similar, although it was shorter, and the records stopped around November. There were none after that until Dean was ten.

 _DEAN WINCHESTER_

 _Age: 10_

 _Teacher: Ms. Daniels_

 _Social Worker: Mr. Lennon_

There were only a few progress reports and a couple grades, but what drew Sonny's attention was the conversation with a social worker inside.

 _MR. LENNON_

 _Dean, have a seat. How was your day?_

 _DEAN_

 _Fine._

 _MR. LENNON_

 _Did you have any tests?_

 _DEAN_

 _No._

Sonny squinted. Written in the margins were some scrawled phrases. _Didn't let go of backpack. Wouldn't look me in the eyes. Shook a lot. Flinched when I approached him._ There were repeated _shows signs of abuse_ near Dean's words.

 _MR. LENNON_

 _What about at home? How's your family?_

Sonny found _did not respond_ and more phrases in the margins.

 _Dean? Dean? Dean!_

 _DEAN_

 _Yes, sir._

 _MR. LENNON_

 _Did you hear my question? I just want to know how life for you at home is like._

 _DEAN_

 _Fine. Can I—sir?_

 _MR. LENNON_

 _There's no need to call me 'sir,' Dean. What did you want to ask me?_

 _DEAN_

 _Can I go now? My brother… He's waiting for me, sir, and I… I don't want him to be alone._

 _MR. LENNON_

 _Don't worry about Sam. I asked a teacher to stay with him until our meeting ended._

 _DEAN_

 _No._

 _MR. LENNON_

 _What?_

There was something scribbled about _hyperventilation_ and _panic_ above the next words.

 _DEAN_

 _I can't… I need… I have to get to Sam…_

 _MR. LENNON_

 _Dean, just calm down. Sam is fine. Everything is fine._

 _DEAN_

 _No… No! I have to get… I need Sam! I need—_

 _MR. LENNON_

 _Dean, calm down! You—Dean! Dean!_

There were no more printed words after that, but there were many written ones explaining that Dean had a violent reaction and that they followed up with a visit to the home, but by that time, the Winchesters were gone. Dean didn't register for any schools between the ages of four and ten, and there were reports of skipping school, strange behavior, physical aggression, and injuries from unknown sources. There were even records of Dean obtaining injuries so terrible that he was hospitalized. Broken bones, stab wounds, gunshot wounds, claw wounds, head injuries, malnutrition, even strangulation… Dean never stayed at a single school for more than a month; each time, he left a string of concerned teachers and staff in his wake. They reported bruises in the shape of hands and shoes, odd behavior, and, like Sonny had observed, an intense dependency on his little brother. He read further into Dean's medical records; he'd never experienced a child with such a violent past.

Sonny didn't know how to handle him. Dean was afraid of everything: people, crowds, confined spaces, food… He just hoped that going to school would help them adjust to a safe, carefree life.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!**


	20. Somewhere Between Heaven and Hell

**A/N: This chapter's a little shorter, but I hope you still like it!**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #273 (Piece of cake)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #604 (sake)**

 **Fanfiction Writing Month: October [1053]**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Dean and Sam started at school on Monday. Because Dean was twelve and Sam was seven, they went to different schools, which obviously bothered Dean. So on the first day, when Sonny received a call saying that Dean had not appeared at school that morning, he knew exactly where he had gone. Sonny found him hiding outside of the elementary school, watching his brother from the bushes. "Dean?"

The older Winchester jumped, startled. "S-si-sir? I—" He shivered, and then the usual soldier-esque disposition cascaded over Dean. "I apologize, sir," he stated, standing. "I am ready for any punishment you—"

"Dean, Dean, it's alright. I just was...wondering why you weren't at school today." He kneeled beside the boy. Are you worried about Sam?"

Dean didn't respond; he merely straightened his back as Sonny spoke.

"Listen, Dean, the teachers at his school will take good care of Sam. Haven't you split up before? For school?" Nothing. "Dean?"

Dean flinched, shook his head, and began signing anxiously, his fingers trembling. WANT SAMMY ME. WANT SAMMY ME. NO PUNISH PLEASE. NO HURT…

"Dean, you're going to have to talk out loud, son. I can't understand—"

WANT SAMMY ME! PLEASE…

"Dean, talk to me. I don't–"

Dean whimpered and finally shut down completely.

* * *

Sonny allowed Dean to sit in on Sam's class on the first day to make him more comfortable being separated from his brother. After a similar reaction occurred on Tuesday, Sonny came to the school and met with the vice principal to discuss a solution.

Mrs. Green, as it turned out, had already found one by the time he arrived. A woman named Kathy Gavinski (who Sonny had actually known since they were children) had heard of the Winchester situation and met Sonny at the elementary school to talk about it. "I'm a reading specialist," she explained. "I meet with most kids in the beginning of the school year to figure out how well their reading and comprehension skills are. I tested Sam on Monday, Sonny, and he's...incredible. He can easily read in the 800th percentile."

Sonny knew Sam was smart, but to this degree… He responded simply: "Wow."

"We haven't had time to test him in his other subjects, but just by spending time with him, it's obvious to me that he is an extremely intelligent and perceptive boy." She sighed. "However, when I observed him during class, he's also isolated himself from the other children and rarely speaks up. And because I know that Dean has...trouble adjusting to a school without Sam, I think it would be best, at least for the rest of the school year, for us to move Sam to the middle school. He is definitely at the correct academic level for it, and if the two of them need each other as much as you say, then I think this would be best. I'm worried about Sam further isolating himself, for his own sake, but it is May; school is almost over. Once the next school year starts, we can discuss another option for the boys." She shrugged slightly. "What do you think?"

Sonny smiled. "I think we have our solution."

That night, at the dinner table, Dean and Sam learned over their new situation. Cas smiled. "I'm glad everything worked out," he said.

Dean stared at his plate and took a small bite of his green beans, staying silent. Sam grabbed Dean's hand. "Thank you, sir," Sam said.

Sonny smiled. "It's not a problem, boys. And you don't have to call me 'sir.'"

Again, the Winchesters said nothing in response.

* * *

The next morning, Sam and Dean sat on the school bus together. Dean sat on the outside of the seat with a protective arm around Sam. Sam was signing furiously, so frantic that Dean could barely understand him. He told his older brother about the nightmare that he had had that night, the one that had left him in a sobbing, pitiful state, soaked in sweat and terrified beneath the sheets. He had dreamt of a monster they had both been abducted by a year ago; it still had a frightening grip on Sam's mental state.

It was a ghost, a violent father who had died during his own birthday party at the hands of his young son. He had taken them into his basement and tied them to chairs, giving them rotted pieces of birthday cake and strapping small party hats onto their heads. When they didn't do as he said, he got angry, pulling them away from the table and beating them until they submitted to his will. Sam, only six at the time, had to watch his school friend, Max, kidnapped, beaten, and then murdered by the ghost, and was forced to sit next to his friend's cold, mutilated corpse afterwards.

By the time John rescued the boys four days later, Sam and Dean were bloody, starving, and scared to death, startled by even the smallest of sounds. Sam wouldn't sit down in a chair or eat anything at all at first. He just laid in bed with an empty look, completely silent and rocking back and forth until John finally agreed to take them to see a doctor. However, this rarely meant the hospital. Their father instead called a hunter friend of his who had formerly been a doctor and asked him to look at them. Dr. Willis, a tall, thick man with blonde hair and a toothy smile, reminded Sam so much of the ghost that he hyperventilated until he passed out. Willis was so worried about Sam's mental state after the trauma that he actually tried to ask John to keep them out of the hunting life. He didn't think Sam would ever recover, and… so far, he hadn't. Since then, Sam couldn't make friends. He hated birthday parties, party hats, and, most of all, cake or anything like it.

Now, Sam burrowed further into his arms, trying to feel safe again, and Dean hugged him tightly. He wished… He wished John weren't a hunter. Then Sam wouldn't have grown up in this violent, malevolent world with only Dean to watch out for him. It was too late for Dean; John had already made him into a killer like him. Dean would never be able to wipe the blood from his hands.

* * *

 **A/N: Next chapter will be coming soon! Can't wait!**


	21. Reading Is Fundamental

**A/N: Sorry, this one's kind of short, but it's really intense.**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #4 (Reality bites)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #587 (perfect)**

 **Fanfiction Writing Month: October [942]**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Once class began, Sam and Dean sat in the back of the classroom, paying attention but never drawing attention to themselves. Their first class was Science. Easy. Their teacher told them everything that they had to do, so it would be difficult for them to make a mistake.

The other students were wary of the Winchesters; Dean would glare at anyone who came anywhere near the two of them. Usually, the new kids were easy targets, but the Winchester boys... They were left alone. They spoke to each other during class, but Dean curled in on himself. When faced with teachers, he turned into Dean the soldier: obedient, silent, and mentally absent. When faced with other students, he turned into Dean the hunter: aggressive, violent, and protective. With Sam, he was...just Dean.

History was great. Because there was only one extra desk, Sam pulled up a chair to Dean's new desk, so they did their class work together. Sam whispered the questions to Dean, who answered them smoothly; all of their studying lore gave them a lot of practice.

Math was decent for both of them, and during lunch they spoke in Latin to one another and ate their sandwiches alone.

Things generally went smoothly for the Winchester boys; they stayed out of trouble. Dean was eating more—although only a couple of bites more—and a couple of times he didn't call him 'sir.' What excited him the most, however, was that Dean was actually making a friend. Castiel and Dean now spent the afternoons together, playing card games and board games unless they had chores. A couple of times, he even saw Dean smile. Sonny observed the two playing Candyland with Sam. Everything was perfect...until English class Thursday afternoon. Mr. Anderson, their teacher, handed Sam and Dean each a copy of _The Open Window_. "Dean, would you like to start reading?"

Dean looked, horrified, at Sam, who was one desk away. He stared at the packet of words, and all of a sudden the world started to close in on him. Sam, easily recognizing the signs, stood up to help his brother.

"Sit down, Sam. Dean can do it on his own."

Dean's hands clenched, and he looked up to find that his teacher was much too close. He gasped, "Sam—"

"Dean, we're on the top of the second page. Start from "She looked," okay?"

Dean nodded, pale. He felt sick, but he tried to push it down. "Sh–she look—she looked—" He glanced at Sam, eyes wide. The girl sitting beside him pointed at the next part of the sentence, and he stared at it absently.

"Dean?" A hand landed on his shoulder, and he jerked away so hard that he knocked the packet off of the desk. Mr. Anderson picked it up and placed it on his desk. "Start from here."

"No," Dean said quietly.

"What?"

"No," he repeated. "I won't." He couldn't let Sonny find out; this was the only way.

Mr. Anderson frowned, stepped closer, and Dean's fear overwhelmed him, washing over every inch of him until he was shaking and seeing red. "No!" he screamed. "Sam!"

Sonny was called to the school after an apparent incident with Dean during English class. Honestly, he was surprised it hadn't happened sooner. When he walked into the school, he was met with a frightening sight. Dean sat in the corner of the room, shaking and holding a kitchen knife, guarding Sam with his body. His eyes were wild, and he looked feverish. He was shining with sweat and he was deathly pale. "N-n-no!" he cried once he saw Sonny. He brandished his knife at him. "D-don't come—" He coughed violently. "C-closer…"

"Dean," Sonny warned, "put the knife down. Everything is fine."

Dean's eyes glistened. "He's gonna… He's gonna kill me…"

Sonny's stomach dropped. Was he talking about his father? "Dean, no one's going to hurt you. You're okay. You're not in any danger."

Dean shook his head and started to cry. "He's—he's g-gonna… kill m-m-me…"

"Dean, no—"

"He knows, he kn-n-nows…"

"What, Dean? Kid, what are you talking about?"

Dean cringed, sobbing. "He knows I can't…"

"Can't what?"

"C-can't" —he sobbed again— "read…"

Dean hadn't been taking his medication; Sam confessed after Dean passed out and began to cough up spots of blood. Sonny found the stash of pills in their unused bottom bunk. He put Dean on bedrest until the fever finally broke. He had Dr. Gilmore on the phone constantly, but she assured him that Dean would be fine as long as he started taking his medication again. She even visited a couple times to check on him. Sonny put the boy in a separate room so he could get some quiet, and Sam moved with him. They stayed together throughout the whole ordeal, because Sam refused to go to school without Dean for fear that Sonny would beat him while he was gone.

Sonny was worried about what Dean had said. He couldn't _read_. He went back and flipped through Dean's file again, finding clues that he had skipped before. One teacher in particular recognized the signs when Dean had an outburst during class. He had outright refused to do the work that she gave him unless Sam was there. Unless… Sam must have been able to read. Kathy Gavinski had tested Sam, but no one had tested Dean. Most sixth graders could already read, after all. They had simply assumed… Oh, God. No wonder Dean needed Sam to be there during class; Sam did all of the reading for him because Dean couldn't do it himself. Dean relied on Sam for a most basic need: written communication.

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 **A/N: Thanks for reading,** **everyone! The support and reviews I've gotten have been so, so wonderful. Next chapter will be posted sometime tomorrow.**


	22. Blood Brother

**If You Dare Challenge - #764 (It's the past, let's not talk about it)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #590 (typical)**

 **Fanfiction Writing Month: October [1182]**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

So when Dean's illness was nearly gone, Sonny visited their room. Their communication was...interesting, to say the least. Dean was signing, too tired to talk, but Sam was speaking in another language, giggling quietly. It almost sounded like...Latin. "Boys?" He knocked gently on the open door. Upon seeing him, their smiles slid from their faces. "Could I come in?" He almost asked Sam to go and play, but he knew that would only result in more fear.

Dean closed his eyes and nodded, but his arms nevertheless curled around Sam.

"I just wanted to talk to you about what you said on Thursday, when everything happened. Not," Sonny added quickly, "to punish you. I just wanted to know how I can help you academically."

Dean and Sam simultaneously flinched. KNOW SONNY? Sam asked. It would have been strange for any other person to understand Sam's question, but they'd spoken about the subject many times in sign language, so Dean knew exactly what he meant: _Does Sonny know that you can't read_?

Dean nodded.

Sam turned back to face Sonny and bared his teeth at him. "No," he said. " _Nihil._ Get out."

Dean's hands flew faster than Sonny had ever seen. CAREFUL SAMMY. NO MAKE SONNY ANGRY OR HE—NO WANT HURT YOU. NO HAVE F-A. F-A was their sign name for the first-aid kit. When Sonny didn't move, Dean spoke. "If you're gonna do it, can we go out of this room? Sam...doesn't need to see it."

"Dean, I already told you: I'm not going to" —his voice cracked— "punish you. I just want to help. I want you to take a little test just to see where you are with your letter recognition, numbers, stuff like that… There's nothing to be afraid of."

"No," Sam said again, more forceful this time. " _Exite._ You stay away from him."

CAREFUL! Dean signed loudly.

NO DEAN. IF SONNY PUNISH YOU, YOU DIE. REMEMBER YOU WITH SIR? BEFORE? SICK YOU AND SIR PUNISH YOU.

Dean remembered quite well. He had been sick (they still weren't sure what the illness had been); as a result, he passed out during a hunt in Nebraska, endangering both John and Sam by not providing backup. John was so angry when he got back to the motel that… well, Dean had woken up black and blue with two broken ribs and his eyes so swollen he could barely see. He was bleeding profusely from the head, so much so that Dean's pulse nearly faded completely. Sam, after returning from school to find his brother unconscious in a pool of his own blood, had to stitch up the wound in his head and nurse Dean back to somewhat-decent health.

Dean signed reassurances to Sam and then turned to Sonny. "Sir," he said quietly. "I would rather not. I want to stay with Sam."

"It's okay, Dean. I'll just leave the test here with you, and I'll take Sam out of the room so you can—"

"No!" Dean snarled, jumping forward. "You're not taking him!" He coughed. "No! Get out! Get out!"

Sonny added another thing to Dean's list of fears that week: schoolwork. He knew that the boys were immensely frightened of him, so he sent Rosa, his adoptive sister, instead. She was a small, kind woman who would hopefully be able to calm them. "Dean?" She knocked softly on the door. "Sam? May I come in?" After a faint knock, she entered. She found them on top of each other in the guest room bed, Sam curled up in Dean's lap, asleep. It was obvious that Sam had been crying. Sonny had told her about the younger Winchester's nightmares; it seemed to him that every morning, Sam woke up crying. Her eyes travelled from Sam's wet face to Dean's agitated one. He shifted Sam to a more comfortable position as she neared them, stroking Sam's hair and wiping away his tears. "Hey, _mijo,_ " she murmured, sitting down beside their bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, ma'am," he answered. "Dr. Gilmore said I could start school again on Monday if I wanted to."

"And do you want to?"

Dean stared at Sam's tear-stained face. "I…" He couldn't finish his sentence. It was typical of Dean to lose his ability to speak when he was confronted with something that made him uncomfortable.

The soft-spoken woman made sure to keep her words tender and kind. "What's wrong, _mijo_?"

Dean hesitated. Malevolent memories bubbled up over the surface of his brain, threatening to spill over, but he shoved them back down. This woman… She was caring and loving, and reminded him so much of Mommy… "Three years ago," he began, his voice shaking, "Sam and I were staying at the motel while Dad went… while Dad worked. He gave us money, so we were fine, but I was still… I was still a little…" Dean bit his lip. "I was...hurt, and my teacher started to notice, and then I...passed out during class. We went to the hospital, but since Dad wasn't there, they put us into foster care after I got better.

"We got to stay together, but we got put with this couple...the Allen family. They had one older son in eighth grade, and he was okay. They put us in school, and they made me… They tried to make me—make me read, and I-I-I couldn't. So I—I didn't want to do it, and my teacher sent me to the principal's office. Mr. Allen had to come, and he took me home...w-wi-without Sam. He was so...so mad, and…" He shuddered. "The teacher told him that she didn't think… that I d-d-didn't know how to re-read, so…" He was growing increasingly anguished now, digging his nails into his palms and glancing all over the place. "He punished me," he said, as though it were the simplest thing in the world. "He p-put a b-b-book in front of me, a kid's book, and t-told me to read it. Every—" Dean shut his eyes for a moment as if preventing himself from crying. "E-every t-time I got something wrong, he—he would punish me."

"He hit you?" Rosa asked quietly.

Dean nodded cautiously. "With anything he c-could find. He—he would pick up things, tell me to spell—to spell them, and if I-I couldn't…"

Rosa was fuming, but she knew she couldn't display her anger even in the slightest, or she could set off a chain reaction of Dean's turbulent emotions. "I'm sorry that he did that to you, Dean. You didn't deserve that." She wanted to hug the boy, but Sonny had warned her about the boys' reaction to physical contact.

Dean shrugged, brushing Sam's hair away from his eyes. "It was my fault. I-I should've known… At least he was never that bad with Sam."

"Did he hit Sam, too?"

Dean's gaze darkened. "A couple times. They knew if they hurt him, I'd have to obey them, and I—" He stopped abruptly, choking down his words. "Most of the time, they stayed away from him. He's a… He's a good kid."

"The best I've seen," Rosa agreed.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading!**


	23. Heart

**A/N: This chapter doesn't really feature the Winchesters, but it's important for their development. Hopefully, you guys like it!**

 **If You Dare** **Challenge - #606 (Wishful Thinking)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #207 (lost)**

 **Fanfiction Writing Month: October[1414]**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Rosa learned, through their brief talks, that Dean knew the alphabet and could recognize about half of the letters in it, but had no idea how to read actual words and sentences. He was a whiz with numbers and could easily comprehend books if she read them out loud, but he couldn't write or read them. She told Sonny as much, and he frowned. "How could he have never learned how to read?"

"He slipped the system," Rosa answered sadly. "His father rarely took him to school, _y si iba a la escuela_ …" _And if he went to school..._ When emotion fueled her conversation, Rosa generally had to switch back to Spanish, for English couldn't express well enough what she felt.

" _Yo sé_ , Rosa," Sonny said. _I know._ " _Desastre_." _Disaster._ He slipped into Rosa's native tongue with ease.

" _Sí, como el jueves_." _Yes, like on Thursday._

" _Sí… Tal vez Dean no atenderá la escuela. Si él tendrá… este reaccion todas las días, no es una buena idea._ " _Yes... Maybe Dean shouldn't attend school. If he will have... this reaction every time, then it's not a good idea._

Rosa sat down, pressing her fingertips against the sides of her head. " _Pero… ¿Qué harémos con Sam? No se irá sin Dean_." _But... What will we do with Sam? He won't go without Dean._ She sighed, blinking back tears. "I wish… _Quiero ayudarlos."_ _I want to help them._

Eventually, they decided that Sam and Dean would be better off at home with a tutor rather than finishing the school year with the constant fear of everyone around them. Kathy Gavinski, the saint she was, volunteered to do it for no pay. Sonny knew that the boys seemed much more comfortable around her than anyone else, so she was perfect.

* * *

Although Dean obviously had trouble with learning to read (it stirred up terrible memories for him), by the end of the school year, he could recognize all letters and some words. It took him a while to even be willing to do so; at first, Kathy's sessions with the boys ended in tears, hyperventilation, or violence. However, by the end of the third week, Dean could read Bob books. He was an intelligent boy, just like his brother. He learned quicker than anyone she'd seen; it was only his past that held him back.

Kathy sighed and closed her eyes, taking a long sip of the iced tea Sonny had given her. If only Sam and Dean had been _her_ children… Then they would've been free to be children, free to be intelligent and carefree… The Winchesters were anything but carefree. Because of their father— Kathy didn't want to think about it. She'd seen the plethora of scarring on his skin. Dean almost always wore long sleeves and pants, even though the heat could be thick and relentless. She spotted the odd white lines and slightly curved marks covering his hands every time he picked up his pencil or pointed to a word he didn't know. He was also missing the tips of both pinky fingers down to the first knuckle; it didn't look genetic.

Kathy swallowed hard and tried not to think about it. There was also scarring on his face and all over his neck; there were lines just below his Adam's apple that made her think a knife had been held to his throat. Multiple times. On the back of his neck were thicker, pinker scars that seemed to lead to his back. Dean's face… His nose had definitely been broken; it had been broken so many times that there was an obvious knot in the center of his face. There were more sharp lines that looked like they came from knives and a large claw mark on the right side of his face, narrowly missing his eye. There was one thicker, curved line above his left eye that sliced right through his eyebrow. Another claw scar could be seen faintly on his forehead and grazing his chin. She guessed that the claw marks could not have come from the father, but at least from some negligence on his part. But the rest… She wanted to find him and rip his throat out.

"Wow," someone said, and she jumped. "I don't know what that napkin did to you, but I sure hope it deserved it."

She relaxed quickly, realizing it was only Sonny. Kathy glanced down to find that she'd been tearing her napkin into pieces. She sighed again. "Sorry."

"No worries," he said, sitting down across from her at the counter. "What's on your mind?" He swept the pieces into the trash.

"Just...thinking about the boys," she said.

"My boys? There's a lot of 'em. You're gonna have to be a tad more specific."

Kathy smiled, just a little. Sonny always knew just how to make her cheer up. "Sam and Dean. Well, Dean, specifically."

Sonny's shoulders slumped.

"I'm just…" she began. "I'm worried about them. Mentally, physically, emotionally… These Winchesters have been through more than we could ever imagine. They… I don't know… Sam will go into these moments where he will completely block everything out, and Dean, too… I can't get any closer than about three feet without them completely breaking down or shutting down or-or-or—And the...th-the scars, I mean, they're everywhere. Who would do this to a child? Some of the marks on them look years old, and they're not just on Dean… oh, God…" She looked up and realized that Sonny's head was in his hands. He was...crying. He was sobbing silently, covering his tear-streaked face with his hands. "Oh, Sonny, I didn't mean to upset you…"

He shook his head, trying to stop, but it didn't seem to work. Kathy approached him instead, hugging him and holding him. She touched his face and then she kissed him, trying to take away his pain. When he finally stopped shaking with his sobs, he kissed her once more and then hugged her. Finally, he confessed how lost he felt. "I've had boys come through here who look like they've gone through a meat grinder," he began. "I've dealt with them, I… I help them. They learn that they can be happy, they can be...safe here. I've met some who have come from families who have hurt them, or tried to kill them, or just abandoned them. Once they come here, they're… They remind me of Sam and Dean, in the way they don't want to be touched, they feel threatened, they… They're scared.

"Once they come here, settle into a routine, they… They get better. But Sam, Dean, they… They're not getting any better. They're scared of me, scared of Rosa, of _you_ … They think I'm gonna _beat_ them, Kathy," he said, tortured. "Any time I get too close, every time I try to _help_ them, Dean does this thing…" His voice broke, and she rubbed his back supportively. "He—he shuts down and says—he says something about how he'll take any punishment and he won't complain, but he goes totally blank, like—like a soldier, honestly, and I _know_ that look. He's experienced so much—so much _pain_ that he's learned to crawl into the back of his mind because there's no suffering there.

"I can't… I want to _help_ them, Kathy. I want to help them so badly it _hurts_. But they won't let me get close to them… Dean barely eats, barely sleeps, never lets Sam out of a five-foot range…" He bit his lip, hard, and his voice suddenly grew quiet. "Whenever he eats, Kathy, he…" He gestured with his hands. "He'll eat a bite of each thing in the plate, just a small one, and then he'll wait. Just a minute or two. Then he tells Sam he can eat." He rubbed his forehead. "I didn't understand why he was doing it before, but now… I checked his hospital records, and…the doctor working on him said that he'd been poisoned. Multiple times over a week-long period. Sam and Dean both. I think… He checks if the food is… the food I give him… is poisoned before Sam eats it. It's—" His voice cracked again. "They see everything as a threat, Kathy. _Everything_. They don't understand that they're _safe_ here, and there's nothing I can do about it. I just wish they could know that all I want to do is protect them…"

"Well," Kathy said, curling her hand over his, "maybe you just have to prove it to them."

* * *

 **A/N: Can't wait for the next chapter! Stay tuned!**


	24. No Rest For The Wicked

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who has supported me so far!**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #860 (Like It's Her Birthday)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #66 (Afraid)**

 **Fanfiction Writing Month: October [942]**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Almost two months later, Sonny did. Weeks go by as Sam and Dean settle into Sonny's Home for Boys. Dean's injuries faded; his formerly broken bones were now only sore memories. The large cuts had completely healed and were only jagged pink scars. Dean still wasn't eating much; he was thin and bony, and worked so vigorously with Sonny's chores that sometimes he passed out.

Both boys were looking much healthier physically, but their mental health was still extremely unstable. When Sonny brought the boys to dinner that night, they seemed generally fine. Dean, as usual, ate a couple bites of fish and then watched Sam eat. It was Jaime's birthday, so he brought out his cake near the end of the meal. Once they started to sing 'Happy Birthday,' Dean froze. Sam began to shake, shivering so hard that his fork clattered to the floor. But as Sonny was engrossed in celebrating Jaime's birthday, he didn't notice.

Sam tried to suck in a breath, but was unsuccessful. "Happy birthday dear Jaime," they sang, and the notes rang in his head, sickeningly sweet and reminding him of—

"— _happy birthday to me," whispered the man, his frigid hands on Sam's bare shoulders. "Open your eyes, son," he ordered. Sam squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, whimpering. "It's time for cake."_

" _D-D-De-Dean," Sam sobbed. "D-D—"_

 _The man struck him across the face so hard that blinding white pain electrified the center of his face, and blood spurted from his nose. He cried out for Dean again. Dean was_ always _there to save him. Why wasn't he saving him? Hoping that Dean was there, Sam opened his eyes. He spotted two limp forms across from him, tied to chairs like he was, and another one beside him, and_ Dean _was_ right there—

 _A partially transparent, filthy man stood on the other side of the table, blood dripping down his chin. Sam screamed, and the man's face flooded with rage; he began to flicker, baring his teeth. Sam was yanked away from the table, away from_ Dean _, and then the onslaught began._

Sam sobbed silently, curling into a tight ball and rocking, rocking, rocking… The ghost's grating voice echoed in his head—

" _Open your eyes, kiddo, open those eyes…"_

 _He shook his head, crying harder and harder until he hit him again, this time a fist into his thin torso. "Open your eyes or I swear I'll break every bone in your body!" He heard a_ crack _and a scream, and it took him a moment to realize that the scream came from his own mouth._

"Sam! _Sammy_!"

A hand brushed against his side and he shuddered, prying his eyes open like the ghost told him to.

 _Once the ghost dragged him back to his seat, bloody and bruised, Sam's eyes were wide open. He kept his mouth shut; the ghost had broken his left leg when he had cried out for Dean. He could see his brother in front of him, unconscious, as well as someone on his right… He recognized him. It was Max, his friend from school. He didn't dare speak because he feared the wrath of the ghost, but when Max finally woke up, their eyes met. "Sam?" he whispered, shivering with fear. His eyes filled with tears. "Where are we?" He sniffed. "Why—Sam, why are we here?"_

 _Sam didn't want to speak, but he thought the ghost was gone for now, so he answered him. "A man… He took us here. He… You just gotta stay quiet, okay?"_

 _Max struggled against his bindings, whining in fear and pain. "Sam, I wanna go home, I don't… I'm scared…"_

" _Just keep quiet, okay?" Sam whispered. "Then he'll leave you alone."_

 _Max began to wail, crying, "No… I want Mommy…"_

 _Sam shushed him again, his heart pounding. "Max, you have to stay quiet or he will—"_

" _I want Mommy, I want Mommy, I want—"_

 _He screamed as the ghost appeared. Max cried out, and then the pale man flickered out and appeared behind him. "It's my birthday," he growled. "And you'll shut up unless I tell you to talk."_

 _Max only cried louder, and then Sam forced his head forward, eyes open, as Max's sobs of fear melted into screams of pain._

"Sam, can you hear me? Sam—"

"Get away from him!"

"Dean, I'm only trying to help—"

 _Every time Max came back to the table, he began to cry again; the fifth time the ghost dragged Sam's friend back to the birthday party, Max said nothing. Sam turned his head and then shock washed over him, icy cold, and he vomited all over himself._

 _The side of Max's face was a huge, gaping, bloody gash. Max's eyes stared at him, blank and dull, and Sam threw up again._

"He's not breathing!"

"No, Sammy, no—"

"Dean, you have to let me _help_ him—"

"No!"

"Dean, I'm not going to hurt him! Just let me—"

" _Happy birthday" —Sam hiccuped— "to you… Happy b-birthday to you…"_

 _The ghost grinned and clapped as Dean began to stir from his unconscious state. "Sam…" he moaned, but his brother didn't respond. He continued singing, his voice raw with a combination of shock, fear, pain, and dehydration. "Sammy…"_

 _The ghost stopped clapping, turning his head towards Dean. Sam sang louder, tears streaming down his bloody cheeks, and then Dean was yanked away from the table._

"Dean, _let me help him!_ He's going to die if we don't do something! ...Dean, _please_ —"

 _Dean was back at the table, a party hat strapped to his head. His brown hair was matted with blood._

 _Blood…_

 _Sam thought of Max and began to scream._

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! Please favorite, follow, and review.**


	25. The Memory Remains

**A/N: This chapter explains what happened in the last one with Sam.**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #911 (New truths)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #621 (nurture)**

 **Fanfiction Writing Month: October [1087]**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Sonny had never faced a situation as intense as the one he faced that day. Sam has completely broken down when they started to sing 'Happy Birthday' to a point where he was having a fully blown panic attack, crying and screaming and then shutting down like Dean usually did.

He had gone completely blank, humming 'Happy Birthday' under his breath until he made a small strangled noise. As it turned out, something in the meal had caused Sam's face and throat to swell. His allergy combined with the hyperventilation had ripped away his ability to breathe. When Sonny had moved towards Sam to help him, Dean had pulled out a knife, a knife that he recognized from his own kitchen. Sony had argued with him and gone towards Sam, and Dean had sliced open his arm with a strangely practiced flick of his wrist. Trying to clutch his wound and help Sam, Sonny pleaded with Dean as Sam lay lifeless on the ground. Finally, Dean gave in, his own breathing growing ragged and shallow, and Sonny plunged his epipen—always on hand for two of his current boys—into Sam's leg. The swelling had immediately gone down.

Currently, they were sitting in Sam's hospital room. He was fine, but they were keeping him overnight for observation. Dr. Gilmore drove in to check on them as well. Sam was allergic to salmon; he'd never had it before that day. Other than that, he was generally healthy.

At first, they wouldn't let Dean visit Sam, but once Dr. Gilmore spoke with them over the phone on her drive there, they reluctantly made an exception as long as Sonny was there to supervise. Sonny set Rosa in charge of the rest of the boys, although Castiel begged to come with them in the ambulance.

Dean had tried to climb into the bed with Sam; physical contact with his brother clearly comforted him, but Sam had a terrible reaction when touched. Dean seemed to understand, but was nevertheless disappointed. He curled up in the visitor's chair next to Sonny and watched Sam with vigorous intensity. However, even Dean Winchester had his limits; therefore, around two o'clock he collapsed from exhaustion, falling asleep. Sonny stayed awake and watched Sam, making sure his breathing stayed steady. Around four, Dean began to twist and writhe on his seat, whining in pain and sweating through his shirt. "No…" he murmured, gasping. "No… No, please…"

Sonny tried to comfort him, but he only startled him into waking. Dean nearly jumped out of his chair, placing his arms up to protect himself in a way he'd only seen practiced fighters do. "Dean, it's okay," he assured, raising his hands in the air. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Once Dean lowered his hands, they sat for a few minutes in silence. After a while, Dean muttered, "You saved Sam."

Sonny smiled. "Yeah."

"Why?"

He turned towards Dean. "Because I care about him. Just like I care about you."

Dean stopped. "You saved his life."

"Well...yes."

"Because...you care."

"Yes."

He stared at his hands, tracing the scars there with his fingertips. For a while, he didn't say anything at all. Finally, he whispered, "You're not… You're not like Sir at all."

Sonny frowned. "Who—"

"Dad, I mean," he corrected himself. "You're not like Dad. But… You're not…" He stopped himself again as though censoring his words. "I don't understand."

"What don't you understand?"

"You're… You're not like Dad… You're not like the others… You've never punished me or hurt me and I don't… I don't understand why. You saved Sam, you gave us a home without any catch… It doesn't make any sense. I just… I just want to know when the other shoe is going to drop."

"Dean, there is no other shoe," Sonny told him. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Dean's hands were shaking. "I've—I've had other people tell me that." He met Sonny's eyes. "They lied."

"What about your mom?"

Dean froze. His voice shook. "What?"

"Did she ever hurt you?" Sonny was taking a leap here. He had read Dean's files; he hoped this would work.

Dean began to shake, his fists clenching and unclenching. "No," he said quietly. "She's dead."

"I know," said Sonny. "I'm sorry."

Suddenly, Dean realized what he was saying. "You're like...her. You said… you care about me. You don't… punish me." He looked up at Sonny. "You're like Mommy."

* * *

After Dean's epiphany, he was more comfortable around Sonny. Once he even fell asleep in his arms while watching over Sam. However, he always woke up startled and scared.

The doctor released Sam in the morning, giving Sonny the prescription for an epipen solely for Sam. It took a few hours before Sam was mentally stable enough for human contact, but soon Dean was carrying him like he had when Sonny had first met them.

Because Dean now trusted Sonny, Sam trusted Sonny. Although they didn't treat him as a nurturing figure by any means, they did began to respect him, as well as believe they weren't going to be punished for everything they did. So their experiences at Sonny's place were now much calmer. Although it wasn't perfect, it was clear to everyone that their disposition towards Sonny and Sonny's home had drastically changed. Dean was eating much more; almost half his plate was gone before he gave the rest to Sam a couple of weeks later. Sometimes they slept in the bottom bunk instead of the top bunk. He only called Sonny 'sir' about half the time. He also started to trust Castiel more as well. Specifically, a couple of days ago Ethan had tried to bother Sam, push him around a little, and Castiel had protected him. After that incident, a couple of times Dean left Sam in the same room as Castiel or Sonny.

However, it still wasn't as good as Sonny had hoped. Sam sometimes woke up screaming, alerting the entire house. He'd never seen Dean wake up in a terrible state like Sam; whenever he entered the room, Dean was awake. However, a couple of weeks before school started, he was woken up at around two in the morning to someone shaking his shoulder roughly. "Sonny, wake up. Sonny!" Sonny opened his eyes, recognizing Ethan standing before him.

"Something wrong?" he asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He'd never seen this boy so...scared.

"It—It's Dean," he stammered. "You have to come quick."

Sonny raced out of bed before Ethan could say any more.

* * *

 **A/N: Remember, Ethan's the one who tends to bully the other kids? Why is he concerned about Dean! AHHH CLIFFHANGER!**


	26. Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things

**A/N: So sorry about the wait, everyone! Here's the next chapter.**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #101 (My Worst Nightmare)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #470 (Tongue Tied)**

 **Fanfiction Writing Month [1504]**

* * *

When he arrived in the boys' room, he found his boys all loosely crowded around Dean's lower bunk. He squeezed through them and found Sam on one side of the room, crying and hiccuping into Cas's shoulder while the older boy rubbed his back, carrying him as though he were much younger. " _Et exspiravit,_ " Sam wailed. He repeated it, over and over, in between sobs, until breaking out into sobs so great his whole body shook. Castiel seemed especially troubled by the scene.

Dean was in his bed on his back, whimpering and moaning softly. His skin shone with a thin film of sweat. "How long has he been like this?" Sonny asked, worried.

Ethan shook his head, gazing emptily at Dean. "That's not it, Sonny. Just wait."

All of a sudden Dean's back arched, his breathing caught, and his mouth opened in a silent scream of agony. No sound came from him, but his eyes squeezed shut tightly, and his entire body jolted: once, twice, a dozen times, until he collapsed back into the mattress, making pain-filled sounds. "Have you tried waking him up?" Sonny asked.

Ethan nodded. "That's what Cas tried to do first."

At the sound of his name, Cas tore his eyes away from Sam and met Sonny's gaze. A dark red slash now decorated Castiel's face. "Oh, God…" Sonny murmured. "Okay, everyone head downstairs, okay?" He didn't want Dean to wake up surrounded by the other boys. He knew how the Winchesters feared crowds. "You can sleep on the couch if you'd like. If you can't go back to sleep… You can put the TV on, but mute it, got it?"

As the boys filed out the door, giving concerned or scared glances to Dean, Castiel stopped in front of him. "But Sonny—" he began. Sam gripped him tighter, so he whispered so as to not startle him. "What about Sam?"

Sonny ran his hand through his hair. "Just… sit on the bed with him, okay? Over by the door." Castiel nodded. "And kid...you okay? That cut—"

He shook his head. "Get Dean awake first."

Sonny kneeled beside Dean's lower bunk. He had started to cry, taking low, shallow breaths before making the same motions as before and choking on unspeakable pain, jerking with the force of each invisible blow. Sonny tried touching his shoulder, but once he did so, he had to duck to avoid receiving a cut similar to Castiel's.

He didn't want to do this (he never liked using physical force with Dean), but he had to pry the knife from Dean's hands. Dean fought Sonny with surprising strength, but soon the weapon was in his hands instead. He placed the knife on a nightstand and then kneeled again next to Dean. Dean only moaned louder now, tortured by whatever was inside of his head, and gripped the sheets, whining from the pain. His face glistened with sweat and tears, and his entire body shuddered, curling tighter. Yet his body stayed in relatively the same position as if held by invisible restraints. His arms were bent above his head, and—

Dean's body arched again, jolting once more with the strange blows, and then Sonny couldn't stand it. "Dean," he whispered, and Dean groaned in pain, twisting and contorting and writhing. He tried again, louder. "Dean." His head jerked to the right, and he let out three animalistic whines, flinching and jolting with blow after blow after blow— "Dean!"

Dean's eyes flew open, swollen and bloodshot. His pupils were blown with terror. He screamed and shrunk in on himself, squeezing as far back into the corner as he could go. The bed squeaked beneath his terrified, shaking body. _He's awake,_ Sonny thought, _but in his mind he's still there._ "N-n-no—" he sobbed, shielding his head with his arms. "P-p-p—"

It took Sonny nearly two hours to calm Dean after his nightmare. He had to send both Sam and Castiel from the room as well. Now, Dean sat with his back against the wall, not letting his spine even brush against it. He hugged his knees against his chest, his eyes puffy and red. His face was covered in tears; he roughly brushed them away with his sleeve. "Dean?"

The Winchester looked up at Sonny, but not freely. His eyes held a strange, obedient quality that frightened him. "Yes, sir?"

Sonny swallowed hard. "You don't… have to call me sir, Dean. You know that."

"Sorry, sir."

"Don't be sorry, it's—"

The door creaked, opening slowly. Kathy Gavinski had arrived with a mug of hot chocolate. Dean bristled at the newcomer. For a second, Sonny thought he had gone back inside of his head. "Hey," she said softly. "Dean, it's me."

Slowly, Dean lifted his head.

"I brought you some hot chocolate," she said, kneeling beside Sonny. "You want it?"

She offered it to him, handle first. Dean looked down and nodded, accepting the mug. It was not too hot for him to hold; Kathy had made sure of that. He sipped on it cautiously, and then Sonny spoke again. "Do you remember what happened, Dean?"

He stayed silent, tongue tied.

"You had a...bad dream."

Again, nothing.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Dean's hands shook, and some hot chocolate splashed onto the comforter. "S-sorry, sir, I'll clean it up, I'll—"

"Don't worry about it, Dean," Sonny assured him. "I'll get it later, okay?"

He nodded in reply, still wary.

"Do you want to talk about your dream, Dean?"

He shook his head. "It was nothing, sir, I promise."

"Dean…" Sonny and Kathy shared a concerned look. "I care about you. I just want to help." He began to protest again, but Sonny stopped him. " _Please._ Tell me what happened."

Dean stared at Sonny, his gaze oddly intense. "Yes, sir," he said finally, and he took one shaky sip of the hot chocolate before speaking again. "Before we came here… Four years ago, we were staying in Iowa. Sir was… He left to work, but he was…angry with me, so he didn't let me stay with Sam." It was clear that Dean was censoring his words in front of them. "I just… I just wanted to get back to him. But Sir…" His fingers gripped the mug with frightening strength. "We were...hunting, and somethi—someone had followed us. I don't know—somehow I got separated from Sir, and this… I got knocked out. I woke up and I—" His breathing quickened. "Sir was gone. I di-didn't know where I—where I was, and th-th-there was…" He squeezed his eyes shut as if trying to block out the thought. "Sir, I can't… I don't want…" He started to shake again, whimpering. Suddenly, his eyes went blank as though someone had wiped the emotion from him. He told the rest of his story in a dull monotone, like it had no effect on him. "The…man who took me… He liked hurting people. Kids. The others, they didn't survive past a week. But me… I was in there a week before Sir found me." Dean's face didn't move, but his eyes bounced back and forth several times before settling back into their former position. "The man… He kept me down there… Kept me chained to the wall. Whipped me until I was standing in blood… Cut my legs whenever I passed out… He would sit and watch me bleed, watch me call for help, and laugh. He liked hearing me scream…" He flinched once before going back to his robotic state. "That's what I was dreaming about, sir. After, Sir took me to the hospital; I don't remember much, only flashes, but I was in pretty bad shape. Then we went back on the road."

As Sonny struggled to control his anger, Kathy said, "I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean didn't move.

"That should never happen to anyone, you hear me? What you went through… I couldn't begin to understand, but I want you to know that we're here for you, okay? Sonny and I" —she placed her hand over his— "are always here if you need someone to talk to."

Dean's almost robotic persona cracked as he handed the mug back to her. "D-don't—" He hesitated. "Don't tell anyone, okay? They don't—don't need to know."

"Even Castiel?"

"Especially Cas." Dean shook. "They'll hate me, I know they'll hate me."

Kathy frowned. "Dean, why would they hate you? Castiel… He cares about you. He would understand."

Dean shook his head furiously. "N-no! He—he can't know how… how weak I am. He c-can't. Please."

This time, Sonny interrupted. "Dean," he said, "you aren't weak. You're strong. Incredibly strong."

Dean started to cry, and immediately wrung his hands as he did so. "N-no. No. No, no, no…" He seemed to be muttering to himself now. "Soldiers don't cry. Soldiers don't cry. Soldiers don't cry."

Sonny shared a scared glance with Kathy. "Dean, it's okay to cry. Sometimes, when you're feeling—"

"No! I-I-I—" And then before Dean could shed one more tear, he shut down again, going completely blank.

* * *

 **A/N: I'll be posting the next chapter in the next couple of days. Tell me what you think so far!**


	27. Brother's Keeper

**A/N: Thanks for your patience, everyone! Here's the next chapter. In this one, we'll see how hard the adults work to try to heal the Winchesters and ease their trauma.**

 **Fanfiction Writing Month: October [1820]**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #849 (Wild Gestures)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #152 (gold)**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

It took a few days for everything to settle down; Dean and Sam moved back to the top bunk, and both of them refused to eat altogether. They didn't accept anything to drink in cups; if they got thirsty, they would run to the sink, drink from the faucet, and run back to their rooms. They stopped speaking in English; Dean and Sam reverted back to sign language. Sonny left meals at the door at first, but that only seemed to make matters worse. Kathy stayed at Sonny's to help with the boys; for some reason, the Winchesters trusted her a little more. After looking further into their file, he realized it was because she looked a lot like their mother, with blonde hair and blue eyes. After she stayed hours overtime to help comfort them when they needed it, he offered to pay her to stay with the boys, but she refused. "I think," she said, "I've been given a second chance." She told Sonny about her struggles having children on her own and that she would stay here with the boys whenever Sonny needed her.

Still, however, the boys hadn't spoken a word since what had happened that early morning. Even Castiel, with his gentle nature and compassionate words, couldn't go anywhere near them without frightening them even more. Once three days went by, Sonny made a call. "Sonny?" he heard. The answer was a little more gruff than he remembered, but it had been a few years since they had last spoken.

"Hey, Amina," he answered, smiling. "How are you?"

Amina Ife had been one of his very best friends throughout high school. She was born in Africa, and moved to America when she was nine. Born to one deaf parent, she was fluent in American Sign Language. As she grew up and attended college, she became fluent in several different languages, including Spanish, Portuguese, Italian, French, Swahili, Afrikaans, Chinese, and British Sign Language. An expert linguist, she worked for all kinds of companies as a translators or a speaker.

Today, Sonny hoped she could help. After catching up, he asked her to come visit. "It's hard to explain, Mina," he said. "I think you'll just have to come and see."

So exactly six hours later, Amina Ife arrived at Sonny's Home for Boys. She greeted Sonny and the boys, although Sam and Dean merely stayed in the corner, signing and watching her warily. Dean had woken up frightened and intensely sensitive that morning; everyone within a five-foot-radius was now an obvious enemy to him. Amina and Sonny moved into the kitchen, where Kathy had just finished a phone call. The two women greeted each other, and finally, they sat down to talk about the Winchesters. "So what is this about, Sonny?" Amina asked. "You were pretty vague on the phone."

Sonny nodded. "There are a couple of boys I'd like you to speak to."

She nodded. "What language?"

"ASL, I think. Their names are Sam and Dean Winchester. They… I just got them a few months ago. They'd been in the hospital for around five months by the time they came here."

"What for?"

Kathy and Sonny exchanged a look. "Car crash," he explained quickly.

Amina frowned, looking over at the Winchesters. She watched them sign, back and forth, back and forth… "Were their arms injured in the crash?"

"What?"

"Were their arms—"

"I heard you, but… Why is that important?"

She bit her lip. "Their ASL… It's odd, choppy… They don't move their wrists very much. It usually means their arms have been injured before, and they've gotten used to signing with casts or braces or injuries that they now sign in the way that's the least painful for them." Kathy and Sonny looked at each other as Amina carefully examined the boys' movements. "But… They're different. The younger one…"

"Sam."

"Yes. His signing is smoother. Dean's is extremely…injured. But…" Suddenly, Amina stopped, eyes trained on the boys. "Oh…"

"What is it?" Sonny asked.

She pressed her hand to her mouth. "Sonny…"

"What is it? What are they saying?"

She turned, tears in her eyes, and looked at her friend. "What have you done to these children?"

* * *

Sonny, much to his dismay, had to explain the Winchester's situation to Amina. "They were talking about you," Amina explained. "That's why it was...difficult to watch. At first, it was only everyday conversation. Then they started to talk about a dream or something Dean remembered and their signs turned into wild gestures… It was terrible, brutal, and they kept speaking of this "evil." Then they spoke of you, Sonny." He swallowed hard. "They spoke of fear and pain and… They were scared. Scared that you were going to punish them. Have you seen them say this?" She made placed her arms in front of her and signed PUNISH, placing her left arm horizontally with a closed fist and flicked her right arm down sharply with her index finger out. "It means 'punish,' Sonny." Her gold bracelets glinted on her wrists. "They kept repeating it, over and over… That's why it startled me. Some of it is...hard to understand because they've created some signs on their own and due to their accent."

"Accent?" Kathy inquired.

"The one I spoke of before. In the Deaf community, we sometimes call it an injury accent. Dean's is...much thicker. All the movements he makes, see, are very tight; they're all close to his body. And there's this one sign he keeps making…" She demonstrated, crossing both arms over her chest. One hand curled into a fist and the other signed I LOVE YOU.

"What does it mean?"

"Well, literally," she explained, "it's a combination of the signs for PROTECT and I LOVE YOU. But it's odd… The way he uses it is arbitrary; he puts it at the end of sentences, at the beginning, in the middle… So I think it's a name."

"It's Sam," Kathy and Sonny said together.

Amina nodded. "But the way they speak… It's interesting, honestly. They have their own accent: the Winchester accent, I suppose, because they only ever sign to each other." She adjusted her head wrap. "Do you think… Do you think I could talk to them?"

Sonny looked at his hands. "Look, Mina, they're not average kids. It'll be...a little different."

"I've worked with children like them," Amina said. "It will be—"

"No, Mina, honestly," Sonny promised her. "You haven't."

Nevertheless, Amina entered the living room to greet the boys. They were busy conversing in sign. The African woman watched their hands carefully, reading their words. AND D-M THERE, said Dean quickly. As Amina approached, his hands stopped. His eyes landed on her and he quickly stood, falling into a defensive stance, guarding Sam with his body and baring his teeth like a lion would.

NO BE SCARED, she said gently, kneeling. She had known children who had experienced pain; her kneeling was a sign of submission. MY NAME IS A-M-I-N-A. SIGN NAME M-N. Dean watched her carefully, but it was clear that he was not as aggressive as he would usually be. Her ability to sign and her nature had calmed him. HAVE SIGN NAME YOU?

Dean didn't respond; he simply watched her. But Sam peeked out from behind Dean's leg and signed quickly, his movements small. He made a unique sign that Amina assumed meant DEAN and then said, KNOWS M-N, KNOWS M-N, HOW?

QUIET SAMMY, Dean said. And he turned to Amina. HOW KNOW SIGN YOU?

MOTHER DEAF, she answered. DEAF YOU?

He shook his head.

DEAF S-A-M?

He shook his head again, eyes trained on her.

WHY NO SPEAK YOU?

This time, Sam answered. NOT SAFE, he said. MR—

Dean cut him off by blocking his body with his own. NO SIGN ANYMORE. GO AWAY. GO AWAY. It was much more obvious now; Dean had been hurt many times, particularly on his arms and hands. The scars were blatant signs of his injury, but it was clear to Amina with his movements. They were extremely precise, and his arms stayed tight, close to his chest. GO AWAY! NOW!

So far, Amina's attempts to calm the boys had been unsuccessful. Dean was still hyper-paranoid and very unstable; when one of the other boys, a fifteen-year-old named Paul, came too close, Dean punched him in the face so hard he broke the boy's nose. The next day, Sonny realized that Paul was not the only one injured by the incident. In his fragile state, Dean's bones were weaker, and although his punch had been well-practiced, he had broken one of his own fingers with the blow. Now, it was swollen and purple, and Dean struggled to communicate in ASL to his brother, which only amped his frustration and fear.

When Sonny glimpsed the broken finger that morning at breakfast, hidden behind Dean's sleeves, he asked, "Dean, what happened?" The two Winchesters were standing in the corner, apart from the rest of the boys. Dean wouldn't meet Sonny's eyes, as he did after he had punched Paul, so Sonny assumed the injury had resulted from the fight. "Dean, let me see."

The older Winchester glanced fearfully at his brother and moved his hand behind him, shaking his head. He signed one quick word—NO—before he backed up against the wall, wary, grabbing Sam's hand with his good one.

Kathy and Rosa, knowing that this situation could result in something violent or upsetting, asked Sonny's other boys to clear the room and take their breakfast with them. Amina watched from the sink, examining the Winchester's hand motions. Kathy pushed Sonny back, knowing his large male presence could sometimes terrify the boys, and kneeled in front of them at a careful distance. "Dean, please," she said. "We just want to make sure you're okay."

Dean shook his head again, his mouth in a tight line. His face was tense with fear, his legs actively shaking. His eyes kept glancing around the room, dancing over every object as though there was a monster hiding behind it.

When neither Kathy nor Rosa could coax Dean into a sense of safety, Amina tried, kneeling before them and signing in slow, gentle movements. The fact that she wasn't speaking out loud was enough to get Dean to stop shaking, and eventually she got him to show her his hand. During their non-verbal conversation, Sonny had gotten the first-aid kit from the other room, and he handed it to her. She placed the kit on the floor between them, signing, NO I NO-TOUCH. YOU HEAL.

Surprisingly, the boys needed little instruction on how to heal a broken finger, and little Sam placed a splint and bandage on his older brother with ease. No, not just ease. Amina recognized the fact that Sam's ability to heal his brother was unnervingly practiced. How many times had Sam had to take care of Dean's injuries?

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 **A/N: Thanks for reading! To answer some questions I've gotten about Castiel, he will become a major part of Dean's life in the upcoming chapters. And no, he's not an angel. I don't know why, but he doesn't feel like the 'angel of the Lord' Castiel when I write him. You'll see. He's just a kid who cares about everyone and everything.**

 **Thanks for your patience! I'll be posting the next chapter as soon as I can, probably tomorrow.**


	28. The Devil in the Details

**A/N: More Amina and the boys!**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #542 (Truths Foretold)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #203 (happy)**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

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"Their grammar isn't perfect," Amina explained, "but that would be expected of them. Sonny… Do you know… Did they have deaf family members?"

Sonny shrugged. "I've checked their file, Mina, and there's _nothing_. I mean, Sam didn't know anyone other than Dean and their dad; their mother died when Dean was four and Sam was a baby. The mother wasn't deaf, and all of their grandparents were dead by that time… Honestly, I don't know how they learned it." He stirred his coffee. "They know Latin, too, can you believe it?"

"Latin?" she responded, incredulous. These were lonely boys, without any family members who spoke ASL. They didn't stay in any one place for longer than a few weeks, so they didn't have time to learn it from a good friend, for they didn't have any friends. They only had each other. "Where would they learn that?"

"I don't know. I've seen them use Morse code, too. The doctor told me that Dean used it all the time when he was too sick to talk or move his hands."

Amina frowned. "Sick?" she echoed. "I thought you said they were in a car crash."

"Oh…" Sonny scratched his head. He wondered how much he could tell Amina without alarming her before deciding he had to tell her everything. As someone would have to interact with the boys on a more intimate level, she would have to know what had happened to them. "They were, but…" He sighed. "Do you remember what I told you about the father? Neglectful? Absent?" She nodded. "Well, he didn't provide them enough food or clothing. Dean went out in the cold to steal some food, developed hypothermia, then pneumonia, and that combined with his malnutrition… It was bad, Mina. Sometime after that he was hit by a car, and… Well, you know the story from there." He talked about the scars he had seen on the Winchesters, both physical and mental, and about how they couldn't function in everyday life. "It's like they've never had to live in the outside world," Sonny stated. "They've only lived in this terrifying box with only their abusive father for company, and… They don't understand how to live any other way."

They sat in silence for a while, sipping on their coffee. "They're strange," Sonny said finally. "I don't know how to help them. Every time I think we're finally getting somewhere...something like this happens." He shrugged his shoulders. "I just don't understand it. Sometimes, in the morning, I'll find them both downstairs in the kitchen, sitting scared out of their minds in this strange circle of salt in the middle of the floor."

"Salt?"

"Yeah."

Amina sucked in a breath. "So—Sonny, do you know… Can I see their file?"

"Sure." He left, heading up to his bedroom, and came back with a thick file of papers. "What is it?"

She scanned the reports. Claw marks, gunshots, abductions, odd wounds… They took salt to school, they spoke Latin, they were scared of _everything_. They signed about monsters and evil things. They never stayed in one place for more than a month. Their mother… Their mother was Mary Campbell. _Mary Campbell._

Amina didn't tell Sonny, Kathy, or Rosa what she discovered; she didn't know how to tell them. Instead, she slept on it. When she awoke the next morning, she set off to find Sonny. However, he wasn't in bed. She checked the boys' room, but they were all still asleep. The kitchen was empty, and the yard was, too… Amina could faintly hear music playing. It was coming from...upstairs?

She walked up the stairs to find Sonny leaning against the door. "Sonny?" she said, and he nearly jumped. "I—"

He put a finger to his lips and beckoned her closer with his head. _Look,_ he mouthed, pointing to the attic door. Amina went up two steps and peeked through the window.

Castiel was sitting at the piano; Sonny often found him playing early in the morning. He was playing something slow and sweet, something Amina didn't recognize but found to be profoundly powerful.

Sam and Dean were sitting in the corner, listening. They weren't shaking in fear or crying or pulling out knives. For once, they were calm and still, watching Cas' hands fly across the keys. Amina nearly cried; the Winchesters almost looked...happy. After the pianist finished a few more songs, Amina and Sonny crept back downstairs. "You wanted to talk to me?" he asked.

She bit her lip, nodding. "This is going to be...difficult," she said. Her bare feet shuffled against the floor in an odd pattern. "I need you to trust me, okay?"

Sonny frowned. "Of course."

"I need to talk to the boys," she said. Her fingers outlined a similar pattern into the wood.

"You're always welcome to talk to them, Mina. You know that."

She shook her head. "That's not what I mean." She stared at the table. "What I'm going to say to them… I'm not sure how they'll respond. It'll either go very well or very badly, and I need you to tell me that it's okay for me to...go ahead with it."

Sonny, conflicted, ran his hands through his hair. "What will you say?"

"It's hard to…" She stopped herself. "You're going to have to trust me, Sonny. I can't tell you what it is."

Fifteen minutes later, Amina was upstairs with the boys, listening to Castiel. When he finished another song, she politely asked him to leave. Dean immediately stiffened once Castiel was gone, viewing Amina as an immediate threat.

I WANT TALK, she signed, kneeling before them. The frayed edges of her skirt tangled in the straps of her sandals. DON'T WORRY. YOU ARE SAFE.

NO SAFE, Dean snapped. YOU HERE. GO AWAY.

I WANT TALK.

NO TALK YOU. GO AWAY. Dean growled, low and dangerous. He signed to his brother quickly, so quickly that she couldn't understand him.

Amina placed her hands in her lap. "Dean, look at me." To her surprise, he listened. YOU SCARED BECAUSE YOU THINK ME MONSTER?

Sam let out a small yelp, and Dean immediately went into protector mode, hissing and yanking out a knife. WHAT KIND MONSTER YOU?

Amina could still understand his words with the knife in his hands. I NO-MONSTER, D-E-A-N. She paused. MONSTER KIDNAP ME WHEN YOUNG. V-A-M-P-I-R-E. YOUR MOTHER AND HER DAD SAVE ME.

Sam stepped out from behind Dean. KNOW MOMMY YOU? he asked. Dean pushed him back, keeping his knife out.

YES. NAME M-A-R-Y C-A-M-P-B-E-L-L. Obviously, they did not believe her at first; Amina had to spend the next hour convincing them that it was true. Although it was difficult, by the end Dean put his knife away. YOU KNOW MOMMY, he said.

YES, she answered.

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 **A/N: Thanks for reading! More will come soon...**


	29. After School Special

**If You Dare Challenge - #907 (The road to hell is paved with good intentions)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #196 (angry)**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

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Stone by stone, they had to build a relationships with the Winchester boys. Although Dean never stopped calling Sonny sir, he could now get closer to them without any drastic situations. They began to speak again; Amina and the boys often had extensive conversations solely in ASL. Dean and Castiel developed an intense relationship as well; soon, Dean soon trusted Castiel to watch over Sam. Castiel also started to teach Dean how to play the piano. He was an incredibly astute learner; Cas and Dean spent hours together playing and practicing. Dean also began teaching Castiel to sign; Cas bought a few books and practiced every single day, especially while Dean was practicing the piano.

As Sonny's Home for Boys was a group home, Sonny often received donations from the state or from families and individuals he had helped in the past; when he acquired a large donation of books from a bookstore that was going bankrupt, he set them all in the living room in a massive bookshelf. Sam immediately dove into the literature, burying himself in everything from _The Boxcar Children_ to _To Kill A Mockingbird_. Both piano and reading became welcome hobbies for the Winchesters, as it distracted them both from the dark havens of their minds.

The boys started school again; they were fine as long as they stayed together and no one pressured them into doing anything they didn't want to do. A couple of Sonny's boys (Jaime and Harry) sat with Sam and Dean at lunch, making sure no one bothered them.

Castiel always met up with Sam and Dean on his way home from the private school. A couple of times, when they walked home with Castiel, Cas carried Sam on his back. Sam was much more comfortable being touched than Dean was, which evoked conflicting feelings in Sonny. He knew that much of their trauma had resulted from their environment, most likely their father, but how could Dean be so much more traumatized than Sam if they grew up in the same manner? It was obvious that Dean had been through much more than his brother; his physical and mental state said as much. But why?

Sam and Dean still had horrific nightmares and terrible post-traumatic stress disorder, but their lives had improved immensely. Dean eventually stopped checking his food for poison. He still couldn't bear being touched, but he now allowed people in a closer vicinity, particularly Castiel. However, they still had outbursts and moments… Sonny was careful not to celebrate any birthdays inside the house; he would take the boy out to dinner and celebrate at a restaurant instead. After a violent incident, he also made sure Sam and Dean missed school on some of the days leading up to and including Halloween for fear that the decorations would frighten them.

On a Wednesday in November, Sonny was pulled from lunch to some incident involving Dean at school. He grabbed his keys, composed himself, and drove to the middle school, prepared for any situation. Amina was with him, ready to translate anything the boys said in sign. She'd also begun to learn Latin and Morse code, for the boys' sake. Sonny was worried; the last time he'd been called to the school like this, he'd discovered that Dean didn't know how to read, had been physically abused by his foster parent, and had been neglecting to take his medicine. Although instead of a traumatized, frightened, or hallucinating Winchester, he found them sitting together on the bench in front of the principal's office silently. Sam was reading quietly while Dean held him closely.

It wasn't until Sonny got closer that he realized Dean's hands were...bloody. He breathed in sharply. "Dean… Are you hurt?" Amina had been teaching him ASL; he signed one of the only phrases he knew: OKAY YOU?

Dean nodded, but Sonny could tell something was wrong. He was tense, his eyes glancing around the room for an enemy. At that moment, the principal, Mr. West, opened his door. "Sonny," he said solemnly, "thank you for coming. Boys?"

They both jumped to their feet. Dean grabbed Sam's hand. "Yes, sir," said Dean.

Sonny was unnerved by how robotic Dean was. "Come with me," ordered Mr. West, and they followed.

There weren't enough chairs for the four of them, so Amina merely stood against the wall, seeming like a peacekeeper between them. "Dean, would you like to tell Sonny what happened today?" asked Mr. West.

Dean's expression was so hard it looked as though it was carved in stone. "I protected Sam," he said quietly.

Mr. West frowned. "Sonny, Dean beat up another student. Hit him until the other boy was unconscious. He's in the hospital now; Dean shattered his nose and his cheekbone. His eyes are so swollen that he can't currently see."

Sonny gulped. "Dean? Is this true?"

He could see in Dean's eyes that he had begun to creep into the back of his mind. "Yes, sir."

"Do we—" Why couldn't he get a single sentence out? "How is the boy? I'll pay for the hospital bills." Although he wasn't sure how he would acquire the money after the Winchesters' bills, he would have to find a way.

The principal shook his head, stern. "The parents aren't pressing charges as long as Dean apologizes. Apparently, their son was rather fond of antagonizing other kids."

"What brought it on?"

"What?"

"The fight," he clarified. "How did it happen?"

"Well," Mr. West began, "according to the other students—"

"I wasn't asking you, Mr. West. I was asking Dean."

Dean looked up, confused.

"Dean? Can you tell me what happened?"

"Yes, sir," he responded quickly. "James attacked Sam. I attacked him." His gaze was blank.

"James tripped Sam," Mr. West explained. "It was nothing overly violent. Nothing that deemed being knocked unconscious."

The entire meeting went back and forth like this, Dean telling them he was merely protecting Sam and Mr. West accusing him of being unnecessarily violent, until Mr. West stood up in anger. "I'm not just going to let him walk away without a single _consequence_ , Sonny!"

At the word "consequence," Dean jumped up, startled into protecting his brother.

Mr. West, frustrated and annoyed, pointed at the two boys. "And this! This wasn't the first time, Sonny—they've been pushing other kids around here just for getting close! It's absurd!"

"Mr. West, please sit down," Sonny said, trying to stay calm for the sake of the boys. "Why don't we let the boys leave so we can have a rational—"

"Rational? You want to tell me about rational? When you're ready to let these kids do whatever the hell they want? I could expel these two with a snap of my fingers, Sonny! And you think you can just let these disobedient kids go without any _punishment_?"

At the last word Dean's knees buckled, and all hell broke loose.

Dean was shaking as though he was freezing, his hands laced behind his head. He was crying, tears slipping unrestrained down his cheeks. Amina bent down to soothe him, signing IS OKAY, IS OKAY, SAFE YOU! Sam dropped to his knees, whispering lightning-fast in Latin while signing as well.

Sonny snapped, angry. "Don't you _ever_ raise your voice at my boys again, understand?" He knew, deep down, that the principal hadn't mean any true harm to the Winchesters, but as they said, the road to hell was paved with good intentions. He had caused Dean to panic and clearly had little care or concern for Dean's mental stability. He only cared about the perfect "structure" of his school and how Dean and Sam consistently refused to fit into it. The entire situation, honestly, had gone too far, and now Sonny could only view the principal as a potential aggressor towards his boys.

"I didn't—" Mr. West protested.

Sonny ignored the principal to check on Dean. He was struggling to breathe now, afraid and rocking with his arms trapping his head. He was having a full-blown panic attack. Sam, careful not to touch him, whispered to him gently: " _Ego adsum, ego adsum,_ Dean. _Et dixistis liberati sumus. Nemo vobis nocebit,_ Dean, _et ego adsum. Hinc monstra sunt. Me solum. Non est me._ Sam." When Dean didn't respond, whimpering and shivering, Sam's voice grew even softer. " _Non manes, nullus daemonum, nulla lamia, non monstra, non Domine. Medicus non est hinc, autem ego adsum,_ Dean, _et ego non relinquam te._ " Slowly but surely, Dean's eyes focused on his little brother. Sam signed to him. I HERE, DEAN. NO LEAVE YOU ME. I LOVE YOU.

Dean gasped as though coming out of water, and Sam dove into his arms.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! Next chapter, we'll see Dean and Das' relationship develop.**


	30. I Think I'm Gonna Like It Here

**If You Dare Challenge - #378 (Graceful Dance)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #55 (book title) Crush**

 **Fanfiction Writing Month: November [879]**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Dean brought a get well card, a handful of balloons, and a bag of candy for the boy he put in the hospital. He refused to let Sam go with him; he was afraid that James would harm Sam. When he arrived, he kept retreating into his head; Sonny had to call his name multiple times to call his attention.

Both of James' parents were in the room when Dean entered. Terrified, he shook as he approached, ducking his head. He held out the apology gifts to James, who reluctantly accepted them from his hospital bed. Sonny motioned to Mr. and Mrs. Rodgers. "I'm sorry about this whole incident," he said in earnest. "Honestly… It's been really difficult for Dean."

The gray-haired man nodded. "Don't worry about it."

The woman, however, frowned. "What happened to him?"

"What?"

"Sorry. It's just… The scars. On his face. What happened?" Mrs. Rodgers pressed on. "Mr. West told us he was a bit...unstable, so I assumed something had—"

Sonny bristled. "I don't think it's any of your business."

After that incident, Sonny pulled the Winchesters out of public school and enrolled them in private school. He couldn't stand to see them treated with a lack of compassion, especially by the principal himself. With their high test scores, he was able to get them a scholarship to attend the school with little cost. He was also able to get Jaime and Noah into the school without much trouble.

Every morning, Sonny drove the five boys to the private school. Castiel shared every class with Sam and Dean except English. The Winchesters were ecstatic; the private school was much calmer, and they spent most of their time with Castiel. There was a plethora of books for Sam to choose from, and he spent more and more time with Jaime. Jaime had taught Sam a few card games, and now played all the time, competing intensely with one another.

Castiel and Dean were practically conjoined at the hip. They spent all of their time together, playing games, practicing piano, and doing homework.

For the next two years, things went relatively well. Of course, there were setbacks. For instance, Sam and Dean outright refused to take gym at school because it involved getting dressed in front of the other kids. Sonny didn't want to assume that Dean was ashamed of his scars, but he was pretty sure that was the reason. Sam and Dean had instances of panic attacks and delusions while at school, but eventually things got better. Dean soon ate full meals; his illness vanished. He allowed people to touch him, but only briefly. He left Sam with people he trusted: Castiel, Sonny, Amina, Kathy… Soon Dean was fourteen and Sam was ten; they never celebrated their birthdays, however, because Sam still held a violent fear of anything birthday-related.

Once, Cas and Dean were doing their homework on the kitchen table, listening to music, when a song Dean recognized came on. His eyes lit up. "I love this song!"

Cas looked up and grinned. "Night Moves? It's a great one!"

"I used to listen to it in the car," he said, "with Sir before—" His smile faded. "Before…"

Castiel stood up abruptly, interrupting Dean's dark thoughts. He beckoned him closer, holding his hand out. "Come on, Dean."

Dean stared at his friend's hand. "What are you doing?"

"Making some good memories," Cas promised. "Come on. Give me your hand."

Dean hesitated for a second before giving Cas a shy smile and his hand. Sonny watched in shock; Dean was willingly _touching_ someone. And not for a solely practical purpose, either. It was simply because he wanted to be touched and because it felt _good_. Everyone knew that Dean had a massive crush on Castiel, and vice versa, but the boys had never approached the subject themselves...until now. Cas turned up the music with his free hand before grabbing both Dean's hands and leading him into the center of the kitchen. " _Out past the cornfields where the woods get heavy…"_ Cas pulled Dean forward and back, dancing with him. " _Out in the backseat of my '60 Chevy…"_ Before long, Dean was laughing like Sonny had never seen, dancing as though he was on a cloud. Cas spun him around in circles, both of them flushed and giggling as though nothing bad had ever happened to them. " _Working on them night moves…"_

Sonny and Kathy watched their interaction from the other room, intrigued. Soon, Sonny realized something incredible. They didn't look at each other the way friends did. They stared at each other and laughed with each other with love in their hearts. They _loved_ each other.

"Where would we be without Cas?" asked Kathy, as Sonny slipped an arm around her shoulder. "Do you think the boys would be able to survive here?"

To be honest, Sonny had no idea. Cas had become an anchor for the Winchester boys, especially Dean. "I don't know," he confessed, "but I sure am glad we have him."

Kathy nodded in agreement. "Sam and Dean would still be lost without him." And it was true. Castiel pulled the Winchesters out of their dark headspace and into the light, enabling them to feel like carefree kids instead of battle-scarred soldiers.

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 **A/N: Thanks for reading! I know this chapter was super short, but I'll post the next one soon. Now, don't miss that there was a MASSIVE time jump in this chapter: two years. I know that's super odd, but I wanted Cas and Dean to move along a little faster, and I couldn't do that if they were still twelve. Thanks for reading, everyone!**


	31. My Bloody Valentine

**A/N: Sorry about the weird time jump from last chapter, but I'll make up for it in this one. I don't think there'll be any more like it in later chapters, don't worry.**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #530 (True Love)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #543 (theme - first kiss)**

 **Fanfiction Writing Month: November [994]**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

It became quite clear one December night before Christmas when they were fifteen that Dean and Cas loved each other.

Cas had told everyone that he was going to a Christmas party after school; Dean was comfortable with his friend's absence, because he promised to be home by six. Dean, Jaime, Sam, and Danny played Spades until dinner came. When six o'clock passed, Dean assumed he was running late. They ate dinner without him—it was taco night—but Dean made him a plate and set it in the refrigerator.

Six thirty passed. Then seven. And eight. Dean constantly glanced at the door. Was he caught in traffic? Was Cas hurt? Was he dead? In the hunter life, if someone was late, they were probably dead. Dean didn't want to think it, but it was his instinct; although he was no longer a hunter, he couldn't rid himself of this feeling of dread sliding through him like ice.

He sat in front of the door, staring at it. Sam and the other boys went upstairs, but he sat at the kitchen table, simply watching. He tossed his bottle of holy water from one hand to another, anxious and scared. If Castiel came back possessed, he would be ready. He'd lined the doors and windows with salt and had a silver knife handy.

He was _terrified_. He hadn't felt this scared in a while. Amina sat with him to calm him once Sam went up to bed, but even she couldn't soothe his frayed nerves. At around eleven thirty, she went upstairs to talk to Sonny; they had determined that if Cas wasn't back by midnight, they would call the police.

Upon hearing a muted thump from the front door followed by footsteps, Dean perked up, clutching his knife tightly. He slipped into the shadows, his hunter abilities taking over. He was a little out of practice, but he could still—

The door creaked open, and Castiel stumbled inside. He didn't seem particularly monstrous, but Dean couldn't be sure. As soon as Cas reached the table, he threw his mixture of salt and holy water on him. His friend gasped in surprise. "Dean?" He covered his face with his hands. Dean realized he was hunched over.

"Cas! Where have you been?" he demanded, his fear giving way to worry. "You said you'd be back by six!"

He reached to turn the light on, but Cas cried out, "No! Don't turn it on!"

Suspicious, Dean tapped his friend with the silver knife, but there was no sizzling or cry of pain. "Why not?"

"I…" Cas limped towards the stairs. _Limped._

"Cas, stop! What's going on? What happened to you?" Castiel only shook his head; it took Dean a few moments to realize he was crying. "Cas?" He turned the light on, and discovered that Castiel was shirtless, his face was bloody, and his torso was covered in dark, thick words. "Oh…"

Cas cried harder.

Dean's entire body hardened with anger. "Who did this to you?" he snarled. He could read the words now; idiot, fairy, stupid… A few curse words… But most prominent of all was the four letters written on his forehead. H-O-M-O. "Tell me who did this. I'm gonna kill them, I swear to you—"

"It doesn't matter," Cas mumbled, wiping his tears away. "I'm just gonna go upstairs, okay?"

"No," Dean said firmly. "You're going to sit, and you're going to tell me what happened."

Dean sat Cas down at the kitchen table and fetched the first-aid kit from the cabinet. The worst cut was on his forehead; the others were only trivial, but were combined with bruises. He wet a washcloth and began to dab at Cas' face, wiping away the blood while Cas spoke. He told Dean how four boys at the party locked him in a closet upstairs, yelling that they wouldn't let him out until he 'came out of the closet.' They'd seen Dean and him together and had found a picture of Dean in Cas' locker. When Cas, angry and frustrated, had admitted to being gay, they had unlocked the closet and beaten him up until he was unconscious. When he woke up around 11, he was outside in the mud, and his body was covered in words. He walked all the way home, bloody and bruised, unable to find his shirt even to cover the evidence.

Cas hung his head in shame. "I'm sorry," he said.

"No," Dean said gently, his hands on Cas' knees. "You don't get to feel sorry for this. It's those bastards who should be sorry, Cas." He frowned before starting to work on washing away the words on Cas' skin, rubbing gently so as not to hurt him. "We should probably get your eye checked out, Cas. Just to make sure."

"No, Dean. I'm fine, really." He shrugged and winced.

Dean pressed the cloth to Cas' face. "Don't lie to me, Cas. I've had enough lies to last me a lifetime."

They talked more until the words were almost completely gone. Then Dean asked, "You have a picture of me in your locker?"

Cas blushed. "Sorry. Owen took it about a year ago, before he left; you know how he loved photography. I just… liked it a lot. You looked… happy." His face fell. "They wrecked it, Dean, I'm sorry. I can't…"

"You still have it?"

He nodded. "Can I see it?"

Cas pulled the crumpled photo from his pocket. "I don't know what they poured over it… I—I couldn't get it off."

"It's okay, Cas." Dean set the picture on the counter, smoothing it out.

"I just kept it because… I like you."

Dean's hands paused in wringing out the washcloth. "Oh." He started moving again, dabbing at the final O. "Do you—oh." He was speechless.

They sat in silence for a while until Cas spoke again. "I'm sorry about this whole thing, Dean. I—"

Dean cut off Cas' words with a kiss.

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 **A/N: Thanks for reading! Tell me what you think! Next chapter coming soon...**


	32. The Big Empty

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait! Hopefully this chapter makes up for it.**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #587 (Caged)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #14 (A perfect life)**

 **Fanfiction Writing Month: November [1499]**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

In the following weeks, Sonny found Dean and Cas holding hands, putting their arms around one another, hugging, kissing… They acted like a true couple. He had never seen Dean so happy before. In February, when the school's dance came around, Cas asked Dean to the winter dance by stringing Christmas lights all over the barn. Sonny could have sworn all the exhaustion and fear in Dean vanished that day, replaced with joy.

Dean still had setbacks; once he had a nightmare so terrible that no one could touch him for a whole day, and Sonny had to keep him home from school. Without Dean, Sam utterly refused to leave the house, but as he couldn't approach Dean to comfort his older brother, as Dean had locked himself in the bathroom. He was now chanting in a raspy, panicked voice. The words were in Latin, Sonny knew, and Amina beganto translate it. "It's...something religious," she explained. "Be humble under the mighty hand of God; tremble and flee when we invoke the Holy and Terrible name at which we tremble… From the snares of the devil, deliver us, Lord—" Suddenly her eyes widened. "It's an exorcism," she whispered, and she glanced at the floor, where she found a trail of white powder spilling from beneath the door.

"Dean!" Sam slapped his hand against the door, frantic. "Dean, it's me!"

The chanting grew louder.

That simple action undermined everything Sonny thought he knew about the Winchesters. Sam was Dean's rock, not a possible attacker. Why would Dean ignore him? It made no sense.

Sam was panicking now, so Cas placed a hand on his shoulder, and began to speak through the door in a calm, steady voice. It must have been the panic, Sonny thought, that bled through Sam's voice, feeding Dean's own fear, which prevented Dean from wanting to open the door. That's why Cas was speaking gently now; he wanted to soothe Dean so that he would stop...whatever it was. The exorcism. It didn't stop Dean right away, but eventually his voice trailed away and he opened the door. That day, Dean was cautious of everyone around him, even Sam, hissing "Christo" under his breath and displaying other odd behaviors. But at the very least, if something like that happened again, they knew Castiel could coax Dean out of an unstable mental state. A couple of times, Sonny found them sleeping in the same bed, arms curled around each other, peaceful.

Once, Dean woke up in such a terrified, horror-stricken state that he woke the whole house with his screaming. He thrashed and shrieked as Sam clapped his hands over his ears, crying. Castiel jumped from his top bunk and ran to Dean, but Dean didn't respond. "Dean! Dean!"

He screamed louder, a bloodcurdling noise that seemed to shake the whole house. Sonny, Amina, Kathy, and Rosa rushed inside as Dean continued to screech, clutching his head and squeezing his eyes shut. They tried to stop him from screaming, but he only pressed on. The sound was so piercing and shocking that the other boys had to leave the room. "Dean, Dean, shh…" Cas tried to console him, but his attempts did not affect his boyfriend. He could make out some words now, like no and please. "Shh…" He moved into Dean's bed and grabbed his hands, interlacing their fingers and trying to comfort him. "Dean, it's okay, it's okay… You're okay… I'm here, Dean, I'm here."

At the sound of Castiel's voice, Dean began to relax, his screams fading and turning into shakes and sobs. Between his hiccups, Cas could hear him say, "He's gonna—he's gonna—no, please—don't—don't leave me, don't leave me—"

"I'm right here, Dean," Cas assured him. "I won't leave you."

Once Dean was lucid and calm (or calmer at least), Cas held him, stroking his hair and kissing his tears away. "Was it about your father?" he asked gently.

Dean shook his head. He was still pale and trembling, terribly frightened of whatever he had dreamed about.

"Who, then?"

Dean shook his head again, and his fingernails dug into his palms. Carefully, so as not to surprise him, Cas pulled his fingers from their painful position and held his hand.

"Dean, please… Talk to me." He signed this time to emphasize his words, fingerspelling some of it. T-E-L-L ME, PLEASE. I WANT H-E-L-P YOU. H-E-L-P ME UNDERSTAND.

Dean let out a breath, gripping Cas' hand tighter. "You—" He stopped, sitting up. "Promise you won't hate me?"

"I could never hate you."

He stared at Cas' crossed legs, at his unblemished feet. "Do you remember when we went shopping?"

"The second day you were here?"

"Yeah."

"Of course."

"And you remember…what happened? After?"

Cas hesitated. "Yes. You were in the dressing room...alone. And it was...hard for you."

"Yeah. I was...scared. It reminded me of...something that happened to me. Before I came here."

"Okay." Cas was hesitant to press into Dean's past; he knew that his boyfriend had been through a lot of rough experiences before he came to Sonny's.

Dean was silent for about a minute before he spoke again. "With Sir—I mean, my dad… We lived in some bad places, you know? And… Once, we were staying in Utah, and…" His expression twisted, contorted by fear. "Th-there was a m-man there. His name was… Dr. Maddela. He wasn't…" Dean whimpered and pulled his hands away from Castiel.

"Dean, Dean, it's okay…" Cas whispered. "He's not here. It's just me."

Slowly, cautiously, Dean gave Cas his hands again. "He… He took me, Cas… He worked at a psych—at a psychiatric hospital, and…" His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "He locked me in one of the rooms there. The white, padded ones. Like a cage. He left me a bucket and gave me three meals a day through a little slot in the bottom of the door; it was the same every single day, Cas. Just a little white scoop of some mush, and no spoon or anything… It was just me in there, Cas!" Dean was crying again. "It was j-just me, and I was all alone, and I swear I went crazy in there. He'd come visit me sometimes, beat me until I was passed out… Sometimes he'd inject me with stuff that would make my skin feel like it was on fire…"

"Oh, Dean…"

But Dean continued. "You don't understand, Cas. If I didn't put the tray back within a minute, or if I got angry and threw my food or something, he didn't do anything. He always came when I was least expecting it, and sometimes I'd go for days without seeing him… Days in that little room by myself, no sound, no nothing, just me. I'd scream until my voice was completely gone, just to hear something. I stopped eating my meals, Cas, just to feel something. Hunger was better than the big empty. At least then I knew how much time was passing."

"Dean…"

Dean shook his head, growing more agitated. "I started trying to make him mad, Cas, I—" His head jerked to the side, and his eyes began going blank as though he wasn't here anymore. "I tried to make him mad… I looked forward to getting punished, Cas, because if I was hurting then I… At least it was something, you know? At least then I wasn't stuck with my thoughts in that little white room… I was so confused… I was so scared, Cas…" He sobbed into his hands. "There were days I'd forget what Sam looked like… I'd forget what I looked like— I w-went crazy in there, Cas! I… I couldn't see anything other than that wh-white room, that the white room and that stu-stupid b-b-bucket sitting in the corner… I was so… I—I… "

He cried so hard he thought he would vomit, but Cas stayed and held him as he cried, comforting him and consoling him and kissing his tears away.

Cas, after that, could pull Dean from a nightmare or a dangerous state of mind better than Sonny or Amina ever could. Just the sound of the piano, actually, could make Dean smile. Once, after practicing for months, Cas and Dean decided to put on a little recital. Kathy lent them two tuxes that belonged to her nephews, and they came out in suits and bow ties, beaming. They performed some duets, songs that were melodic and joyful, until their fingers ached, and then they bowed, giddy with happiness. It was unbelievable. Sonny would never have recognized this smiling, healthy teenager as the frightened, broken boy that had arrived at his place around three years ago. By no means were they living perfect lives, but at least they could stay in this safe, supportive environment. Every time either of them suffered a panic attack or a distressing nightmare, they could be comforted and know that they were safe no matter what.

The Winchesters were happy. And that was all that mattered.

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 **A/N: Thanks for reading! Next chapter coming soon.**


	33. Holy Terror

**A/N: I thought I'd treat you guys with a quick new chapter. This is one of my favorites!**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #573 (Day of Change)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #141 (color) neon pink**

 **Fanfiction Writing Month: November [690]**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

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In April, everything changed.

All of Sonny's boys were going to the carnival: Dean, Sam, Castiel, Jaime, Harry, Rob, Tre, Andy, Jon, TJ, and Luke. It was their favorite time of year; previously, the Winchesters had not attended the fair because it was too busy and loud; Dean believed it to be too dangerous. But this year, Sonny gave each of his boys three dollars to spend however they wanted, and told them to be back by ten.

Dean kneeled in front of Sam. BE SAFE, he signed.

I KNOW.

NOT KIDDING, SAMMY.

I KNOW! BE WITH SONNY ME. AND JAIME.

Sonny smiled. "Don't worry, Dean," he assured him. "I've got him. I won't let him out of my sight."

Dean's shoulders relaxed. I LOVE YOU, SAMMY.

I LOVE YOU, TOO.

So Dean interlaced his fingers with Castiel's and asked his boyfriend if they could ride the ferris wheel.

It was the most fun Dean had ever had in his entire life. He didn't think he'd ever eaten so much candy in his life. As it turned out, he was amazing at any accuracy games; he knocked over all of the bowling pins on the first try and gave his prize—a large pink teddy bear—to Cas. He leaned and pressed his mouth against Castiel's. He tasted like cotton candy. "Having fun?" Cas asked.

They were sitting on a bench at the edge of the carnival by the rides. Dean was sprawled out over the whole bench, his head in Cas' lap. "Is that even a question?" Dean kissed Cas' fingers. "This is the most fun thing I've ever done. You like the bear?"

They'd had a couple of issues with the roller coaster; the screaming had sent Dean reeling with fear, but Cas had calmed him. Now, they were away from the noise, away from everyone else. "I love it." Cas smiled, tickling Dean, and he laughed hysterically. "I think Bear over here has captured my heart, Dean. Tough luck for you."

Dean, still laughing, replied, WE BREAKING UP?

Cas nodded, giving him a mock apologetic face while signing SORRY. "I've found my one true love, Dean. Sorry. Nothing I can do." He gave the neon pink, stuffed bear a kiss. "Yep. That's true love right there."

Dean laughed harder. "I wish you and Teddy Bear the best of luck, then. When's the wedding?"

Cas pretended to think about it. "He's not a big fan of winter, so I think we're settling for the fall."

"Sounds good."

They laughed and talked and kissed more until Dean thought he could never be unhappy again.

"Sir?"

Sonny looked up. A woman in a blue shirt looked expectantly at him. "Yes?"

"I have a call for a Sonny Alvarez? That's you?"

He nodded.

She handed him the phone; at the sound of the voice on the other line, his stomach dropped.

Amina and Sonny had switched places a while ago. She, Sam, and Jaime were exiting the ferris wheel when she saw Sonny.

He was pale, almost ghostly; he stumbled forward as though ill and looked directly at her. His expression conveyed only devastation. "Stay here," Amina said quickly, and she rushed forward. "Sonny?" she asked, concerned. "Are you okay?"

He bit his lip. "Get the boys," he said. "We're leaving."

"No, Sonny. Tell me what's going on."

He ran his hands through his hair: a clear sign he was distressed. "It's the Winchesters' father," he croaked. "He's back."

Sonny found Cas and Dean on a bench at the edge of the carnival, kissing and laughing. He hated himself for ruining this for them, but he had no choice. He cleared his throat.

Dean immediately sat up, flushed. His cheeks were bright; he was much healthier than he had been when he had first arrived at Sonny's home. Cas sat up as well, straightening his large AC/DC T-shirt and weaving his hands through his hair. "Sonny!" he said, surprised. He frowned at the look on his face. "What is it?"

Sonny could barely get the words out. "It's your father," he told Dean. "He's coming today to take you home."

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 **A/N: Thanks for all of the support! All of your reviews have meant so much to me!**


	34. Goodbye Stranger

**If You Dare Challenge - #3 (Moonstruck)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #19 (book title) You Can't Go Home Again**

 **Fanfiction Writing Month: November [1226]**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

It was as though all of the faith and trust and safety and happiness Sonny had built up in the past two years vanished in the car ride home. Dean became dangerously silent; the joy faded from his face, and he spent the entire car ride wiping away the face paint on Sam's skin. He had waited a half hour with Amina for the bunny face paint, but now Dean was scrubbing it off with his shirt and half of a water bottle in record time. "Dean!" Sam whined, wincing. "No! I wanna keep it!"

The frown lines in Dean's face made him seem a hundred years older. "He won't like it, Sammy. _Scitis quod non placet._ " _You know he won't like it._

" _Autem_ —" _But—_

" _Nihil_ , Sam!" _No, Sam!_

Awkward, intense silence filled the car.

"Dean," Cas said gently. "Dean, _obsecro. Liceat mihi… et auxiliatus sum tibi._ " _Dean, please. Let me… help you_. Cas had learned Latin when he realized how much of a difference it made in Dean's mental state.

Dean jerked away sharply when Cas tried to touch him. "Don't," he snapped. For a moment, he softened. "Sorry, Cas, I just…" But then he hardened again like cement. "Just don't."

Once Sam's face was paint-free, Cas tried again. "Dean, _obsecro te, liceat mi_ —" _Dean, I'm begging you, let me_ — But when Cas touched his arm, Dean shuddered and flinched away. Dean's safe bubble that Sonny had so carefully constructed was destroyed.

When they reached the house, there were two police cars outside. Dean grabbed Sam's hand, and they followed Sonny inside.

John Winchester, in all his glory, stood inside, speaking with two police officers while the third and fourth approached the boys. Dean quickly pushed Sam behind him, but at the sight of his father, he snapped to attention. His arms were tight at the sides, his back was as straight as an arrow, and his eyes focused on the ground. Sonny felt his fists tighten at the sight. Now, he knew. John Winchester had tried to make his sons into soldiers. When Dean had chanted, "Soldiers don't cry," over and over until he shut down… This was John Winchester's doing.

John Winchester grinned. "Boys!" He moved to embrace them, but Sonny stepped forward.

He was not about to let this man ruin what he had created for Sam and Dean. "On what grounds, Officers," he said through gritted teeth, "is this man allowed to take Sam and Dean back?"

The first policeman, Officer Wells, answered him. "He's their biological father, Sonny."

"I know that," he growled back. "But this man allowed his children to be harmed and left them alone to fend for themselves and—"

"He explained the situation at the station." Wells jerked his head at Sam and Dean. "He was brought in to the hospital actually, with a bad stab wound. He was abducted during such time and therefore cannot be held responsible for his children's well-being during the time they were left alone."

Amina pressed her hand to her mouth, incredulous. "Do you honestly believe that?"

"Yes," the officer said. "But it doesn't matter. These are his children, ma'am, and Mr. Winchester deserves to have them back."

"Are you blind?" Kathy hissed. "Have you seen the scars on these boys?"

"He explained that as well, ma'am, and it's in their hospital reports. Most were accidents, and the...er...worse ones were from when both boys were abducted. None of them came from the father."

"You can't just take them away," Amina protested. "They have a life here."

They argued and argued and argued until finally the officers put the foot down. "They're leaving right now, Sonny. There's nothing you can do about it." He nodded at the boys. "Go get your things." Sam and Dean lowered their heads and trudged up the stairs, Castiel close on their heels.

Dean shoved his entire life at Sonny's into a small blue backpack. "Dean!" Cas called his name a third time. "Dean, stop! You can't go home again. You know... I know what he'll do to you. What he'll do to Sam." Even though Cas knew perfectly well that they couldn't fight the police officers, still he pressed on, trying to reach Dean. "You can't. Please, you _can't_ go back. We can fight them. We can... We can hide up here. We can... We could run away, Dean. Just you, me, and Sam against the world. We could do it. Please, _please_ , Dean."

When Dean turned around, Castiel realized he was crying. "I'm sorry, Cas," he said, helping Sam pack his backpack. "I can't—" As Sam zipped his backpack up, Dean leaned forward, grabbing Cas' face with his hands, and kissed Castiel fiercely. They pulled apart slowly, foreheads resting against each other. "I'm gonna miss you," he said. Dean's face was swollen with anguish, moonstruck.

For once, Cas didn't know what to say. He just kissed Dean again with passion that tasted like goodbye and carried Dean's backpack downstairs with them.

When they reached the bottom, John Winchester stood at the bottom of the stairs. "Okay, Sammy," Dean said. "Ready to go?"

Sam nodded.

John Winchester laughed. "Oh, Dean…" he said, and the rebelliousness melted from Dean's bones.

"Yes, sir?" Dean looked like a soldier; John was his commander.

His father laughed again. "You're not coming with us."

Dean shook. "Wh-what?"

He grabbed Sam by the shoulder. "You heard me. I tried teaching you to be obedient, Dean, but you didn't listen." He patted Sam's shoulder. "Sam's coming with me. You're going to stay here until you learn how to behave."

As he picked Sam up, taking him towards the door, Dean let out a bloodcurdling scream that only depicted a fraction of his distress. He launched himself towards Sam—the younger boy thrashed and shrieked in his father's grip—but two of the police officers held him back. "Calm down, boy!" shouted the first. The other kids began to grow restless; they loved Sam as well, and were not willing to let him go. They saw Sam as another little brother, and when Jaime threw a punch at one of the police officers, everything went to hell.

Castiel had never seen Dean so angry in his life; Dean roared— " _No_!" —and dug his heel into a foot, throwing his head back to bash Wells in the face. It became clear to everyone in that room that Dean was a better fighter than all four policemen combined. Before long, one was unconscious, one was bleeding profusely, one was nursing a broken limb, and the final had pulled his gun, trying to keep the other children at bay. "Everyone, _stop_!" he yelled. "The Winchester boy is _gone_! There's nothing you can—"

Dean had then broken free of all three policemen and was sprinting for the door at breakneck pace. The final officer grabbed his shirt collar to try to stop him, but Dean brought his elbow up instead, breaking his nose. As Dean bolted for the door, Officer Horowitz raised his Taser and shot, nailing Dean between his shoulder blades. Dean fell to his knees, letting out a small moan of pain, but rose again, stumbling through the door frame. The other officer shot him again with his Taser, hitting the boy's neck, and Dean convulsed. He twitched and seized as Cas screamed before giving in to darkness.

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 **A/N: Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think! Next chap coming up.**


	35. Simon Said

**If You Dare Challenge - #50 (A crawl space)**

 **Fanfiction Writing Month: November [956]**

* * *

Dean slept for nine hours after he was Tased; while he slept, Cas stayed with him, holding his hand and talking to him. Sonny tried to make him leave to go to bed, even threatening him with extra chores, but Castiel would not move. He just interlaced his fingers with Dean's, kissed his knuckles, and blinked his large, blue, sleep-deprived eyes.

"I don't," Sonny began, "think you should be here when he wakes up, Cas."

"Why not?" Cas' voice was gravelly and low.

"He can get a little... _dangerous_ in times like this, son. You know that."

"I have to be here," Cas declared. "I have to be here when he wakes up."

So Sonny got him a sleeping bag and a plate of food and left him with Dean.

When Dean awoke, he was sluggish, almost cognitively absent. Instead of speaking (it sometimes upset Dean in the morning after he'd had a nightmare), he signed. DEAN? OKAY YOU?

Dean blinked at him.

OKAY YOU? Cas was starting to get scared. What had the Taser done to him?

Dean shook his head. "What?"

OKAY YOU?

He pressed his hand against his forehead. It hurt immensely. "I'm fine… What happened? What—" He stopped, and his eyes grew wide. "Sam."

Cas gulped.

"Sam," Dean repeated. "Where's Sammy?"

"Dean—"

" _Where's my little brother?"_

Once Dean remembered, Sonny had to come in to try to calm him down, but it proved to no avail. Dean began throwing things and smashing picture frames against the wall; he screamed and cried and pulled the dresser from the wall. He punched the pictures on the wall so hard he sliced his knuckles open on the glass. Sonny and Cas waited outside on the other side of the door until the violent storm was over; once it was quiet, Sonny knocked. "Dean?"

At no response, Cas tried. Knocking, he called out, "Dean? Dean? Are you okay?" Again, nothing. " _Esne bene_?"

When they entered the room, they found Dean kneeling in the center where the bed used to be, his gaze empty and his body still. Cas kneeled carefully among the broken glass; "Dean?" he whispered.

Dean looked as though he had murdered someone in the rage of passion and was still reeling with the shock of what he had done. His hands were smeared with blood from the cuts in the glass; some of that blood streaked across his face in thick lines, as though he'd been clawing at his face in his anguish. His eyes were glassy and blank, and he stared past Cas as though he were a ghost instead of his boyfriend.

He touched Dean's scarred, bloody hand, and was shocked to find that Dean didn't respond at all. He didn't flinch away or lean towards him. Dean didn't do anything at all.

Dean was _empty_.

Cas touched Dean's face. _Nothing_. "Dean?" His voice shook; he was legitimately scared. It was as though the loss of Sam had morphed Dean's heart into stone. There was no emotion there; there was no fear, no anger, no hate. No love, no laughter, no joy. He leaned, trying to get into Dean's line of sight, but it didn't work. Dean had slunk back into the crawl space of his brain where following orders and repressing all emotion meant safety.

Dean Winchester was _gone_.

* * *

Dean was a soldier; whenever someone ordered him to do something, he automatically performed that action. He didn't do anything without an order. Sonny had to order him to go downstairs just to start lunch. Cas sat beside him every single day, but Dean never responded. Cas told him to eat every bite to make sure he stayed healthy.

It was clear to Sonny that Cas hated ordering Dean around, but if he didn't, Dean would do nothing. When Castiel left Dean at the table while he did his chores out in the field, a couple of the boys found Dean in his blank state. When Cas came back, he heard laughing coming from the kitchen. "Try again, try again!" He recognized Luke's dry chuckle and rushed inside, dropping his bag. "Hey!" he growled. They were crowded around Dean; Luke and TJ laughed again.

"Come on, Castiel," Luke called. "You've gotta see this. It's hilarious."

Cas' hands curled into fists. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he hissed.

Luke grinned. "Watch." He jerked his chin at Dean, who was staring robotically at the wall. "Open the soda can, Dean." Dean did as he was told. "Pour it on your head."

Dean dumped half the can over his head before Cas reached it, snatching it from Dean's hands and throwing it at Luke. "You stay _away_ from him! You hear me?"

He grabbed a towel from beneath the kitchen sink and began mopping up the mess, drying Dean's hair and face while he sat there, motionless. "Kinda reminds you of our first kiss, right?" he said quietly. His eyes burned. "I never really thanked you for that. You were so sweet… And somehow managed to get all that permanent marker out of my skin in one night." He pressed the towel against Dean's shirt. "You're a miracle worker, Dean." Cas laughed emptily. "And I love you. You're kind and protective and funny and smart… And now…" Before he knew it, he was crying. "Now you're just _stuck_ like this, and I can't _do_ anything." Tears spilled down his cheeks faster than he could stop them. "Please, Dean, _please._ Come back to me…" He sobbed so hard he couldn't speak; he gingerly held Dean's face in his hands and pressed a shaky kiss to Dean's forehead. Then he kissed him on the mouth and held him close, but Dean was far away.

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 **A/N: Thanks for all of your support! The next chapter will go deeper into Dean's reaction to the loss of Sam.**


	36. American Nightmare

**A/N: It's the one you've been waiting for. Warnings for just a really, really traumatized kid.**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #965 (Every breath)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #600 (word) deserving**

 **Fanfiction Writing Month: November [1497]**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

On the fifteenth night without Sam, Sonny was shaken awake by a frightened Castiel. "It's Dean," he stammered. "He's gone."

Sonny jumped out of bed, throwing his robe on. "He's not in bed?"

"No!" Cas' hands shook. "Come on, Sonny, we have to find him. Come on!"

After waking Kathy, Rosa, and Amina, they went down the stairs. Amina grabbed her keys off the counter. "Sonny, you drive west; I'll drive east. Kathy, can you head for the police station? See if they've got anything. Rosa, check the hospital. Jaime, Andy—check the field, the barn, anywhere outside on this property. Okay?"

"I want to help," Cas declared.

Amina shook her head, shrugging her jacket on over her pajamas. "You're not going out there, Castiel. It's not safe."

"I love him," he growled. "I need to help. I can drive, I can—"

Amina glared. "You're not in a stable state of mind; I'm not letting you—"

"Sonny!" The voice came from the kitchen; it was Kathy. The whole group rushed into the room and found the boy they'd been looking for.

Dean Winchester was kneeling on the kitchen floor, dressed in nothing but his underwear, shivering and crying. Like the first night he was at Sonny's, he kept his arms behind his head, his fingers laced together.

Dean's skin was a battlefield of fights and near-misses. His hands, face, and neck had only touched on his suffering; the boy had been extraordinarily careful with keeping his scars away from prying eyes. Now, almost all of his skin was exposed, and it was terrifying.

Whimpering echoed through the deadly silence, every breath drenched in terror and trepidation. "Dean," Cas gasped, but when he tried to step forward, Amina held him back.

"Wait," she warned. The sound reminded her of a wounded dog: low and even whining.

Sonny stepped towards Dean, treading carefully so as not to scare him. "Dean?" he called gently, signing as he spoke. Sonny had never been so frightened for one of his kids. The anguish inside of Dean at the moment was breaking him, splitting him apart. This boy, deserving of safety and security and love, had learned how to accept affection and even return it, but now... Now, he had reverted back to a terrified boy again. DEAN? DEAN?

Dean had more scars than Sonny had ever seen: Sonny now saw the whip marks that Dean had spoken of. His entire back was covered with long, curved, thick lines that made Sonny shudder. Claw marks lined most of his body, and there were dozens of puckered gunshot scars in his upper arms and torso. There were some bite scars as well: some human, some animal. There was one bite on his neck that was deep and particularly disconcerting. There were more knife scars and then...ones that Sonny recognized. These marks covered his arms, hands, and back: scars from a belt. There were also burn marks all over his empty skin, some patches as large as his hand. His legs and feet were scarred as well; pale ridges criss crossed over his legs, some leftover from his back. Sonny didn't know how he'd never noticed how Dean was missing four toes: three on his right and one on his left. His knees and elbows were rough with uneven flesh and repeated scrapes; his ankles had been broken so many times that they were knobby and large. There were surgical scars as well; they lined his chest and legs. His calves were covered in stab scars, and there were odd, chemical-like burns covering his entire left leg from the knee down. He saw a strange brand on his upper right shoulder repeated multiple times on his skin: his thigh, his foot, his neck. And these were only the scars he recognized. Some of them were in strange shapes; he didn't know what could have made those horrible scars on his right leg, and he didn't want to think about why he was missing the tips of his pinkie fingers, four of his toes, and a significant chunk above his hip. He felt bile rising in his throat; why were there so many scars on the eldest Winchester? There was barely a patch of unblemished skin on the boy. He realized then that he had been mistaken before. Dean Winchester has not only been abused. He had not only been in unfortunate situations. He had not only been attacked by creatures. Dean Winchester had been _tortured_.

Castiel let out an anguished whimper at the sight of Dean, his knees buckling. Amina caught him, shushing him.

Dean was stammering something between every sob; his face was wet and shiny with tears. "I-I-I'm-m s-so-orry-ry." He choked through his words, every muscle trembling. "P-p- _please_." He flinched violently as Sonny approached him.

All of the ASL lessons he'd had with Amina came flooding back. "Dean, listen to me." DEAN, LISTEN. "You have nothing to be sorry for." NO SORRY, OKAY? "I'm not going to punish you. I'm not going to hurt you. You've done nothing wrong." NO PUNISH YOU. NO HURT YOU.

Dean shook his head, crying harder, his eyes squeezed shut tightly. "N-n-no…"

"Dean, listen. You're safe. Your father is not here to hurt you. _I'm_ not going to hurt you." LISTEN. SAFE YOU. J-W NOT HERE. I PROTECT YOU. I NOT-HURT YOU.

Again, Dean sobbed. "N-n-no—i-it's m-my fa-fau-ault-t."

WHAT, DEAN? "What is, Dean?"

"Th-tha' Sam-m-my's g- _gone_." He bit his lip so hard that it drew blood in the spot and tried to stifle his cries.

NO. "No, Dean," Sonny said, and Dean winced, expecting a blow. "It's not your fault." NOT YOUR-FAULT.

Dean shivered; his muscles tensed.

"It's not your fault, Dean." NOT YOUR-FAULT. Dean looked at him this time, confused and terrified. "It's not your fault."

"N-no," Dean whimpered. "No…"

"It's not your fault. It's not your fault." Dean's green eyes sparkled with fear. "It's not your fault." The Winchester boy jerked away from Sonny, afraid.

"No," he repeated; the word dragged out in a low moan.

Sonny shuffled closer to Dean. "It's not your fault." He repeated those words until Dean finally broke, sobbing and falling into Sonny's arms, crying like a baby. "It's not your fault, Dean. It's not your fault."

That night, Dean fell asleep in Sonny's arms; he slept violently and fitfully, whimpering and crying out like someone was hurting him. Sonny tried to console him, but Dean's mental state was atrocious. Everything Sonny had done in the past two years to help the Winchester boy had been reversed; he never ate unless ordered to, never allowed anyone to get anywhere near him, couldn't sleep for more than an hour without waking up screaming… He rarely spoke unless coming directly out of a nightmare; sometimes he signed to himself or tapped on the table in Morse code, but Amina told Sonny that most of it was gibberish: random words, letters, or odd phrases. The only things she could understand were phrases about Sam or extreme fear related to his father. It was a little better than Dean when he'd been in complete soldier mode, but not much. He still obeyed every order given to him, but it was more fear-driven than anything else. He was frightened of _everything_ , and it was obvious. They couldn't take him back to school, because when he was in a room with more than five people, he curled up in a ball and began chanting in Latin. The same happened if he was left alone in a room for more than thirty seconds. Sometimes, he would sit and stare at the wall for hours at a time or pull up his fists at nothing in particular. Shadows frightened him. People frightened him. Even Cas couldn't calm him down.

And he wasn't just affected psychologically; physically, he was a wreck as well. He grew thinner and thinner, eating barely a bite per meal, sustaining himself mainly on water. He looked like a skeleton: his face was gaunt, and every bone was visible beneath the skin. His muscles grew weaker, so some of his old injuries returned; he limped nearly all the time. He could barely make it up a set of stairs without trouble. His breathing problems also resurfaced, and Sonny had to increase his medication heavily to keep him out of the hospital. His skin took on a grey, pallid color, and his eyes grew dull. More than once Sonny had found him vomiting in the bathroom, retching what little he had eaten that day. Due to his medication, he found it hard to keep food down, so they had to give him dietary pills, as well as sleeping pills. Dean didn't like taking pills, either; generally they had to _order_ him to take them. Sometimes he would snap, screaming and begging for mercy, and they had to hold him down just to make him take them.

Dean Winchester was broken.

Without Sam in his life, Dean couldn't function.

* * *

 **A/N: What do you think? I know I just tore all your hearts apart, sorry! I'll be posting again in a few days.**


	37. Adventures in Babysitting

**A/N: I know, I know. After last chapter, you want to see more Dean, but this is gonna be another Amina-centric chapter, just to resolve some story stuff. I'll post the next chapter soon, don't worry.**

 **Fanfiction Writing Month: December [1016]**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #770 (Betrayed)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #36 (book title) The Art of Deception**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Amina took a long sip of her coffee and then rubbed her eyes. It had been a long night. They had had to move Dean into another room because he had woken up everyone multiple times, and it had been her turn to watch over him as he slept. Twice he had tried to fight her (and now she had several bruises to prove it), three times he had screamed until his voice gave out, five times he curled up and cried, and twice more he whispered Sam's name over and over again. She was exhausted.

"You okay?" Sonny asked her, sliding in beside her at the kitchen table. He was tired as well; it showed in the dark circles beneath his eyes.

"Fine," she said. "Rough night for Dean, mostly."

"How many times?"

They'd gone through this process so often now that he didn't even have to explain what he was referring to. "Eleven," she answered. "No, twelve."

Sonny sighed, pressing his palms against his eyes. "I don't know what to do anymore…"

Kathy staggered into the room, exhausted as well. "Hey, Kathy," Amina said. "Tough night for you, too?"

Kathy had done two night shifts with Dean before Amina's shift. "Mm hmm," she mumbled. "Dean woke me."

"Sorry," Amina said, but Kathy shook her head.

"It's fine," she said, and she gave Sonny a quick kiss. "Nothin' you can do." She yawned. "Any coffee left?"

" _Lo tengo_ ," Leona muttered, raising her own steaming mug. _I have it._ " _Lo necesito._ " _I need it._ Whenever Sonny's employee grew tired, she slipped back into her native tongue; Leona and Rosa had been speaking in Spanish for a week or two. Leona was Rosa's cousin from Mexico who had come to work at Sonny's occasionally.

"¿ _Puedes hacer más café?"_ Amina begged. _Could you make more coffee?_ " _Ya he terminado._ " _I already finished._

" _Ya lo hice,_ " Leona grumbled, " _y estoy terminando." I already made it, and I'm finished._

Amina didn't know why she was in such a bad mood. "¿ _Estás bien, Leona?_ " _Are you okay, Leona?_

The dark-haired woman glared at her. " _Si un chico está tranquilo, tal vez una mujer puede dormir. Y entonces estaría bien._ " _If a boy was calm, maybe a woman could sleep. And then it would be fine._

Amina stood. " _¿Piensas que es mi culpa?_ " _You think it's my fault?_ Sonny felt the tension in the room multiply, intensified by the lack of sleep in each person.

Leona took a long sip of coffee. " _Si una mujer ha hecho su trabajo…" If a woman had done her job…_

" _¡Hice mi mejor esfuerzo! Tu falta del sueño no es mi culpa." I did my best! Your lack of sleep is not my fault._

" _Están tranquilas, señoras,"_ Sonny warned, trying to calm the storm before it began. _Calm down, ladies._ But it was too late.

" _Solamente preguntamos que mantenga el silencio de Dean, Amina. Y no puedes hacer esta cosita!_ " _We only ask that you keep Dean quiet, Amina. And you couldn't do that one little thing!_

Amina's fists formed into stones. " _Si aprecias tu sueño tanto, puedes irse!_ " _If you cherish your sleep so much, then you can leave!_

" _Yo?"_ Leona's face spelled murder. _Me?_ " _Es mi casa, y no es tuyo. Si alguien tiene que salir, te estará." It's my house, not yours. If anyone should leave, it should be you._

" _He hecho más que tú para los chicos! Todos sus acciones son solamente quejas, quejas, quejas!" I do more than you for the boys! All your do is complain, complain, complain!_

Leona slapped her cup down, spilling some of her coffee. " _Acciones? Puedes hablar sobre acciones? Porqué no hablamos sobre tus acciones, Amina, sí?_ " _Actions? You want to talk about actions? Because we don't talk about your actions, Amina, do we?_

" _No_ —" _No—_

" _Déjame terminar, perra!" Let me finish, bitch!_

Although Kathy did not speak Spanish, she knew at Amina's expression that Leona had gone too far. " _Terminalo,"_ Amina replied coldly, after a moment of intense silence. _Finish._

Leona shot daggers in Amina's direction. " _Caminas por esta casa como un ángel, Amina, pero sabemos que eres." You walk around this house like an angel, but we know what you are._

Amina felt her heart skip a beat. " _Leona_ —"

" _Una puta." A slut._

Sonny grabbed Leona's arm. " _Bastante, Leona_ —" _Enough, Leona—_

" _No me toques!"_ she snapped, wrenching her arm away. _Don't touch me!_ She spun on Amina. " _Te he escuchado. Hablando por el teléfono con su novio misterioso, sí? Sí? Pero no es un novio, verdad? Es_ una novia." _I've heard you. Talking on the phone with your mysterious boyfriend, right? Right? But it's not a boyfriend, right? It's_ a girlfriend.

Sonny and Amina realized at the same time that Cas and Dean, whenever together, had mastered the art of deception around Leona, cautious never to show her anything she would react negatively to. Rosa was fine; she had known Amina for much longer and was much more liberal, but Leona was a generally conservative woman. They had known, had she found out, she would have had something to say about it.

Leona glanced to Sonny for a reaction. " _No tienes nada para decir, Sonny? Sobre su… sus… perversiones?_ " _You have nothing to say, Sonny? About her… her… perversions?_

" _Ya lo supe, Leona_ ," he said quietly. _I already knew, Leona._ He wished Rosa were here now, but she had taken a trip to the hospital to refill Dean's medication. " _Siempre lo sabía._ " _I always knew._

She looked in disbelief from one face to another. "You knew?" she asked Kathy. "About… her?"

Kathy nodded, shrugging.

" _Y no…_ " _And you don't…_ Leona glowered, feeling betrayed. "You don't… care?"

She shrugged again.

Leona spat on the floor at Amina's feet. " _Me das asco, perra_. _No quiero trabajar con una puta que folle muj_ —" _You disgust me, bitch. I don't want to work with a slut who sleeps with wo—_

Sonny stepped between the two women. " _Es suficiente, Leona,"_ he said coldly. _That's enough, Leona._ " _Estás despedida._ " _You're fired._

" _Pero_ —" _But—_

" _Puedes salir. Ahora." You can leave. Now._

* * *

 **A/N: Don't worry, you'll get your Dean fix soon. Thanks to everyone who's supporting me so far!**


	38. Do You Believe In Miracles?

**A/N: See, I told you it was coming. Get buckled, kids. It's gonna be a bumpy ride.**

 **Fanfiction Writing Month: December [1001]**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #198 (feeling) depressed**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #171 (Gazing out into space)**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

He knew the only way they would be able to find Sam was if they got the boys' father arrested. So he went into Dean's room with Amina at his side as a translator, trying to get him to talk about his father. "Dean?" The boy had been silent for days now, only talking through sign and otherwise just gazing out into space. He barely responded to people's voices anymore either; to communicate, he needed sign language. "Hey, can we talk?"

TALK, SIR. Dean stared at Amina's hands.

At least Dean was forming coherent sentences. "I wanted to ask you a couple questions, that's all."

ASK, SIR.

Sonny rubbed his forehead. He didn't know how to start. "I wanted to ask you about your life before you came here."

ASK, SIR.

"Where did you live?"

STAY MOTEL, SIR. BLUE STAR.

"No, Dean, I mean, where did you _live_?"

Dean's chin jerked down, as it generally did when he felt he had disobeyed an order, accompanied by a flinch and occasionally a whimper. STAY MOTEL, SIR. BLUE. STAR. KENTUCKY, SIR.

"Dean… Where was your home?"

SAM AND ME LIVE MANY PLACE, SIR. MANY STATE. MANY CITY.

Sonny didn't know how to ask this. "Where were you born?"

K-A-N-Z-I-S. DON'T KNOW SPELL CITY.

"Try."

Dean flinched again, raising his arms and crying out once before pulling himself back into his mindless state. L-O-R-E-N-S-S, he signed.

"Lawrence," Amina clarified.

Sonny cleared his throat. "And you lived there with your dad and Sam?"

YES.

"What about your mom?"

Dean stopped moving for a whole minute before he answered him. IS DEAD MOMMY.

"I know, but do you remember her?"

REMEMBER MOMMY. REMEMBER-ME MOMMY BURN.

Sonny quickly changed the subject. "Did you like living there?"

YES. SIR NICE. MOMMY NICE.

"That's...good. Can I ask you about your father?"

There was an intense moment of hesitation before Dean replied, ASK, SIR.

"What was he like after that?"

Dean blinked. SIR TAKE CARE SAMMY. SIR TAKE CARE ME.

"Did he ever hurt you?"

Dean stopped, and his eyes moved so that he was staring at Sonny's chest. His hands hovered in the air, unsure. NO WANT HURT, he signed. NO WANT HURT NO WANT NO WANT HURT-GO HURT-GO WANT SAMMY WANT SAMMY WANT SAMMY NEED- He was rocking again, signing to himself until his signs turned to gibberish and his hands shuddered in fear.

He tried again the next week. And the next. But whenever Sonny talked about his father, Dean was unable to communicate clearly. Sometimes, he would get confused; sometimes, Sonny was sure that Dean was lying to protect his father. Once, Sonny got Dean to admit that John had not fed them properly, but it was vague and not enough. Another time he signed about being afraid of John and how John hurt him. Sonny pressed on, and then he mentioned something about pain and punishment and then began screaming at the top of his lungs. Not long after did Dean shut down completely for almost two weeks.

Afterwards, Dean didn't respond to anything, not even orders. They had to admit him to the hospital to give him a feeding tube and medication until he became lucid again. And when he came home again two weeks later, somehow everything got _worse_.

Sonny knew that his group of friends would not last long trying to fix Dean Winchester; it was an impossible task. Amina Ife, Rosa Tierrada, Kathy Gavinski, Jimmy Novak, Erin Gilmore… They were trying their best, but it was impossible. Everyone could see as well the toll it had taken on Cas. He hadn't been his normal, cheery self since Sam had left and Dean had broken; he'd turned cold and silent, depressed at Sam's absence and constantly worrying about Dean.

Sonny knew what he had to do.

"I don't know how to sign this," he told Amina, "so I need you to translate."

She smiled sadly. "Of course." She wasn't so sure his plan would work, but they would try, at least.

He cleared his throat, trying not to hit his head on the top of the bunk he was sitting on. "Dean, we want to help you. I want to get Sam back, but the police won't allow me to look into his whereabouts. The only person who can is Dr. Gilmore, because she has medical precedence over the situation. I want you, Cas, and Jaime to go find her, okay?"

Amina's hands flew, and suddenly Dean's head rose. His green eyes focused on his chest, not his eyes. He never looked anyone in the eye anymore.

"I'm going to tell the principal that you three are home sick with the flu. That'll give you a week, maybe a week and a half, got it? Any more and it starts to look suspicious. Amina'll drive you out as far as she can, and then you're on your own. Go to Dr. Gilmore at the West Hospital outside of El Paso de Vida; she'll give you as much information as she can. You find Sam, you understand? Don't go near your father, because I don't want you to get hurt. Once you find him, you call me, and I'll bring the police and everything." Sonny recognized the sign for POLICE.

Dean suddenly relaxed; his body lost the painful tension it had endured for a long time. "Sam?" he whispered. His voice was a dry croak because he hadn't used it often since Sam had left. Sonny could barely understand him.

"Yeah, Dean," Sonny said. "You're gonna find Sam."

The older Winchester stared at Sonny for a solid two minutes, not reacting at all. Then he began to cry, wrapping his arms around himself. But it wasn't the anguished wail of a grieving brother, the tortured scream of a victim, or the terrified shriek of a scared boy. It was a cry of relief: an exclamation of joy. Dean had been released from his cycle of suffering and had been given a way out.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! Next chapter coming soon.**


	39. O Brother, Where Art Thou?

**A/N: Okay, I know publishing three chapters in one day is super outrageous, but I had to. I know you guys want this one. So happy December, everyone!**

 **Fanfiction Writing Month: December [1554]**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #222 (Dripping)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #139 (color) dark blue**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Sonny gave each boy a backpack filled with anything they might need and some cash he had been saving up for years. "If anything happens," he told them, zipping up Castiel's tan backpack, "you call me, okay? There's money in the bottom of your bag that's specifically for if you run into trouble and need to call me. I'll pick you up, wherever you are." He sighed. "Come back with Sam, okay?" _And hopefully in one piece._

Amina drove for almost four hours before dropping them off at a gas station. "The hospital's a few miles that way," she explained. "You stay out of trouble, okay?"

She gave Castiel and Jaime a hug, kissing their cheeks. To Dean… She knew he still couldn't handle being touched. But to her surprise, Dean flinched and then held out his hand. Holding back tears, she shook his hand gently. "Find your brother," she said, "and stay safe."

"Thank you," he said quietly. His voice was still hoarse with disuse. He turned slowly, then, and followed Castiel and Jaime to the road. Amina watched, trying not to cry, and drove back home.

Dean was quiet; even when they grew tired of walking in the sun and were exhausted, he said nothing, enduring in silence like he always did. It took them about an hour to reach the hospital, and soon they reached the front desk and asked for Dr. Gilmore. The nurse barely looked at them. "Do you have an appointment?" she asked, flipping through papers.

"Well, no," Jaime replied, "but she's expecting us."

They didn't have to argue with the elderly nurse for long; Dr. Gilmore arrived a couple minutes later to greet them. "I'm so glad you're here," she said. "Is Dean—"

Cas stopped her. "He's better, now." He glanced at his boyfriend. "Once we find Sam, everything will be okay."

She took them into her office, where she pulled out a thick file and placed it in front of them. "I went to the station this morning. This was everything they had on the Winchesters."

To her surprise, Dean took the file from her. Once he saw it, however, he fired rapid questions at her, all with minimum word count. "You seen Sam?" he growled.

"Not since you last saw me, no," she answered. She wanted to ask him about his well-being. She knew he was in a dark place, but—

"You know where he is?"

"I don't know anything that's not in that file, Dean. If you read the—"

"You know where Sir is?"

She frowned. "Sir?"

"John," clarified Castiel.

"No. Dean, if it's not in the file—"

Dean flipped through the file frantically. It was clear he was frustrated; he kept mumbling to himself and making fists. To Castiel, it became obvious; whenever Dean was emotional, he struggled to read. Gently, Cas said, "Dean, _liceat me._ " _Allow me._ Castiel's use of Latin surprised Dr. Gilmore, and she quickly glanced at Dean to see his response. " _Obsecro._ " _Please._

Dean handed it to him; Cas began to read aloud immediately.

They discovered that Sam and John Winchester had last been located at a motel only a few miles away, so they set off immediately. They thanked Dr. Gilmore profusely, but she understood that they were trying to find Sam as quickly as possible. "Best of luck," she said, and she resupplied them for all of Dean's meds.

They reached Wendell's, the motel, at around 12 and ran inside. "You seen any little boys here?" Dean snapped. "A forty-year-old Caucasian male and a ten-year-old boy?"

The man at the desk muttered something about a reservation, not paying him any attention, and Dean pulled his knife out in response. He climbed over the counter and pinned the man against the wall, pressing his knife against the vulnerable skin of the man's throat. "I asked you a question," he growled, low and dangerous. "Have you seen them?"

Both Cas and Jaime stood there, scared but knowing there was nothing they could do.

"Uh—I don't—" A bead of blood appeared on his pale, sweaty neck. "Y-yes! They were here a c-couple w-weeks ago—I-I—they left a-and I d-don't know—"

"Where'd they _go_?"

"Uh—" The man squeezed his eyes shut. "I heard 'im said something ab-about Ra-Raleigh? I think?"

"What else did he say?"

"Nothing! I don't know! I swear th-that's all I know!"

Dean knocked him unconscious with the handle of his knife and climbed back over the counter. "Let's go," he said.

They chased John Winchester's trail all the way to Raleigh, North Carolina with a train that took them all the way there. On their third day, they stopped at a motel called Yellow Stones and tried to rest a little before continuing. Obviously, Dean was antsy and wanted only to leave and find Sam, but Cas could tell he was tired as well. They gave Dean his medication and ate some of the food Sonny packed for them. Jaime insisted that Cas and Dean took the beds and he took the couch because both had gotten far less sleep in the past couple weeks than he had.

Cas and Jaime tried to sleep, but it was difficult once Dean fell asleep, because his nightmares racked him so intensely that he almost always woke screaming. So Cas opened Dean's bag of dark blue sleeping pills and approached him with a glass of water. "Dean," he said quietly.

His boyfriend was skinny and shivering, and his face was wet with tears. He rubbed his hands together almost feverishly; Cas prayed he wasn't sick. "I've got your pills," he said, and Dean flinched, raising his hands to protect himself and backing towards the wall.

"No," he whimpered. "I already had my pills, please… You promised…"

The ache in Cas's throat grew tenfold. "I know, Dean, I know. I just want to help you sleep, that's all."

"No…" Dean let out a low wail. "No, please, please… You promised… I don't want any more, no, no…"

Eventually Cas had to order him to take them, which he despised doing. But it was the only way he and Jaime would get any sleep. He went back to his bed and fell asleep almost immediately.

The next day, Cas and Jaime awoke to find Dean's bed empty. Shocked, they scrambled to their feet, but they found Dean at the door instead, slicing his hand open with a sharp blade, red dripping from his palm. "What the hell?" Jaime ran forward and pulled the knife from Dean's hand. "What do you think you're doing?"

Dean cowered at Jaime's anger. "I have to—I wanted to protect—I'm sorry, sir, please don't—"

Cas moved so that he was between them. "Jaime, you're _scaring_ him. Just back down, alright?"

" _I_ scared _him_? _He_ scared _me_! Cutting his hand open with—"

"Please, sir, I didn't want to—" Dean began, shivering.

"Jaime, please…" Cas turned to Dean. "Dean, what were you doing?"

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and pointed at the door. "Protection," he whispered.

The door was covered in strange symbols and marks, some of them outlined in blood. "Holy crap," Jaime said.

Cas nodded. "Whoa." He shook his head, trying to convince Dean that some odd drawings on the door would not protect them, but he was stubborn that it would. Finally, Cas agreed to let him continue the marks as long as he used Castiel's blood and not his own. So he sliced Cas' hand open and began.

Cas didn't know that Dean had a gun until he pulled it out on a motel owner. When he finished interrogating him, he slipped the gun back into his waistband. "Dean!" Cas hissed as they dragged the man behind the counter. "Where'd you get that gun?"

Dean was unapologetic. "Found it."

"Dean…"

"A lot of people have guns, Castiel."

Cas flinched. He knew that Dean wasn't himself when he called Cas by his full name. "You stole it?"

" _Ita_. _Nobis necesse est._ " _Yes. We need it._

"We don't need it, Dean. We won't be attacking anyone."

" _Domine nobis necesse ut impetum._ " _I need it to stop Sir._

"Sonny told us not to confront him, remember? It's not safe."

" _Non mihi curae est._ " _That's not my problem._

"Of course it is, Dean! I care about your safety. Sonny cares about your safety. We all _care_ about you, and if you attack him, it won't end nicely."

" _Mihi opus Sam._ " _I need Sam._

"I know, Dean, I know."

It didn't take them long to track the Winchesters down; when they didn't find them at any motel in the area, they located every abandoned house and checked there. On their fourth try, they heard movement. Dean squatted, hiding himself in the shadows, and Cas and Jaime followed suit. His safety was already off. IF HERE, Cas signed. WE LEAVE. NO ATTACK.

Because one hand held a gun, Dean fingerspelled to his boyfriend. I-F S-A-M H-E-R-E I A-T-T-A-C-K. Then he flung open the door and entered.

Dean could hear voices; to his joy, one of them belonged to Sam. He whipped back around to face Cas, but he wasn't there. C-A-S?

He turned around fully and saw both his friends unconscious on the ground. He raised his gun, but then a sharp pain split through his skull, and he fell headfirst into darkness.

* * *

 **A/N: Mwa ha ha! Your present is a cliffhanger! Have fun waiting for the next chapter!**


	40. The Executioner's Song

_A/N: Here it is!_

 _Fanfiction Writing Month: December []_

 _Are You Crazy - #437 (sentence) His heart was beating faster, and still she was at the other end of the room._

 _If You Dare hallenge - #130 (secure)_

 _Disclaimer: I own nothing._

* * *

Dean stirred and then jerked awake, startled. His hands were bound in an uncomfortable position behind him, and his shoulder cracked painfully as he immediately tried to free himself. He whimpered; he'd been in this position many times, and it had never ended well. Fear flooded through him, leaking through every pore. He was _trapped_.

He could hear screams. He knew those screams. He knew that sound better than anyone in the world. That was Sam's voice. _Sammy's_ voice. He was so close, so close… _Sammy._

More screams.

His father had taught him how to slip handcuffs, but in Dean's current position it would be extremely painful. Nevertheless, he twisted his wrist and then gasped in pain. The handcuffs clinked against the metal bar twice before he finally freed himself. He moved immediately to the door only to find it locked.

The screaming continued, this time higher and louder so that Dean's vision hazed red—

"Dean!" The green-eyed boy whirled around, his expression crazy with fear and a need to get to his brother.

Jaime was handcuffed as well, secure and fastened to the pipe on the wall. His head was bleeding; blood trickled down his forehead. "Help me," he gasped. "And Cas…"

Dean's gaze focused on his boyfriend.

"Dean. Dean! _Dean_!" The Winchester's red-rimmed eyes locked onto Jaime's. "Cas' head is bleeding real bad. Take my handcuffs off, and we can help him and get your brother."

The next scream they heard was so terrible that Dean lost control of his mind. When he was lucid again, he found himself pressed against the door, his knuckles littered with splinters and his shoulder white-hot with pain. Jaime was calling his name, shouting his name until Dean whirled around. "Help me," he hissed.

Dean found a paper clip somewhere in his jacket and used it to unlock the cuffs on his friends. Once free, Jaime jumped to his feet, and Cas slumped over. The Hispanic boy swore loudly. "Hurry, Dean!" Dean rushed forward; his heart suddenly burst inside of his chest and ricocheted off of his ribs. He tore the sleeve off of his shirt and wrapped it tightly around Cas' bloody head. "They hit him pretty hard… Are you okay?"

Dean nodded. "Fine," he said, but he wasn't. He was dizzy and nauseous and had to refocus on Cas twice to finish binding his wound. "We need to get Sam." His hands were red.

"I know, Dean, but first we gotta get outta here." Dean could barely hear him with all of the pressure at his ears. He pointed to a broken window above the sink. "I think we can make it through that window."

"But Sam—"

"Dean, we can get the police to get Sam. There's nothing we can do right now."

A unmistakable pattern of thumps came from beyond the door. Both boys froze. "Go," Dean snapped. "Go!"

Jaime looked back once, helpless, and then jumped onto the sink, crawling through the window. Once on the other side, he hissed, "I'm coming back for you, Dean," and then he ran.

Not two seconds later did the doorknob rattle. Someone unlocked it, and the door slammed open, squeaking terribly on its rusty hinges. Dean clutched Cas' limp hand. Instead of his father, however, it was a huge man with red hair. He grinned; Dean screamed. "Looks like the little birdies got out of their cage, Johnny!" He grabbed both boys by the arm and dragged them forth; Castiel was nearly unconscious, and Dean was barely strong enough to keep himself moving. He yanked them up a painful set of stairs and into an enormous gray room. Dean remembered now that they had been tracking storage facilities.

Dean's shoulder screamed in protest as the red-haired man threw them both in a heap in front of John Winchester. Subconsciously, Dean's back straightened, his face going slack, but his eyes searched the room rebelliously for his little brother. He found Sammy only feet from John, shirtless and bleeding and crying. His face was pink, and his back was bleeding, but Dean would save him. He _had_ to save Sam. At one of Sam's louder sobs, John whipped around, furious. "Shut up!"

At the sound of his father's anger, Dean whimpered and shivered. He was so weak… He couldn't even protect Sam through his terror. His heart was beating faster, and still he was at the other end of the room. John Winchester turned back to Dean. "Thanks, Lee." Dean stared at John's feet, so frightened that his teeth chattered. "You two are a long way from home, I'd say." John laughed, a hateful, familiar sound that burned through him. "How's Sonny?"

Dean remained silent; he knew that if he spoke, he'd only get hurt.

"Aw, you giving me the silent treatment, Dean? What happened to that loud mouth of yours?" He continued to tease Dean, pressing him to anger and emotion, but Dean had been too well trained. His eyes tracked only Sam.

"And what about pretty boy here?" John was saying. Dean's eyes flitted to his bleeding, blue-eyed friend. "Lee told me all about you two."

Dean froze.

"Oh, yes. Did I forget to mention? Lee worked as a janitor at that school of yours. I persuaded him to come work with me in exchange for a few things."

Dean had never been so scared in his entire life.

"He told me a lot of funny, funny things about you and this" —John wrenched Cas up by the hair— "boy. Told me that you two cared a whole lot for each other."

Dean wrenched his eyes away from his father and stared at the man, Lee. "You," he whispered, low and dangerous. Then he howled in anger and launched himself at the man; immediately, he felt thick fingers wrap around his throat. John Winchester was screaming in his ear, something about obedience and punishment, but he couldn't breathe and he couldn't breathe and he couldn't _breathe_ —

The fingers released him, and Dean gasped, choking and coughing. A foot struck his side; Dean knew those boots any day. They kicked him again and again and again until he coughed and the floor was splattered with red… Dean slipped into the back of his head; he saw Sammy and Cas and Sonny and Amina and Jaime and Kathy and Rosa… He ran and hugged his little brother, breathing in the sweet smell of his hair. He cried and cried and—

"Soldiers don't _cry_ , Dean!" John's fist struck his nose, and the crack that followed sent Sam into another round of tears. "Soldiers don't—"

"Stop!" It was not so much a yell as it was a desperate plea; Sam was begging for them to stop hurting his brother.

In response, John Winchester raised his belt one more time.

Everything seemed to slow down. Dean looked up through his swollen eyes and saw Cas, his angel, raising a gun. At the same time, Lee drew his gun; the shots rang at the same time, and then the doors burst open and two bodies dropped to the ground. Dean crawled to his brother, bleeding and broken. "Sam…" he croaked. "Sammy…" His eyes met his brother's large ones, and then he slipped away.

* * *

 _A/N: Nect chapter coming soon. Tell me what you think!_


	41. The Kids Are Alright

**A/N: Next chapter. This one starts out from a new perspective, a police chief in North Carolina, but we'll be back to normal by the next chapter.**

 **Fanfiction Writing Month: December [1260]**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Melisende Gold was the chief of police of a small town near Raleigh where John Winchester had been apprehended. She personally interrogated his colleague, Lee McCarthy. Her deputy, Tomas Salvador, took over for her at the police station so she could talk to and check on the boys. She was actually good friends with Sonny (he had taken some of her troubled boys beforehand).

The boy who had called the police station in the first place was in the hospital as well; he had gotten to the nearest payphone and frantically told the operator on the other end that his friends had been kidnapped by his violent father and another man. He told them where they were, and the police were there as soon as possible. Jaime, the boy, was recovering from a mild concussion and abrasions and was only staying in the hospital to make sure his friends were okay. Sonny and his friend Amina arrived a few hours later at the hospital.

John Winchester, during an altercation with the boys, had been shot. He was taken to the hospital as well, but the bullet had hit several major organs. He died about an hour after arriving at the hospital.

Sam Winchester, the little boy, was eleven years old and had been heavily beaten by the men with several weapons. She spoke to Sam's doctor, a woman with long auburn hair who was actually her deputy's girlfriend. Lily Salvador, the doctor, told Meli that Sam had been severely beaten with a belt and had to recover from major wounds in his back and hands; he couldn't currently use his hands because they were so swollen and broken.

Dean Winchester, Sam's older brother, was sixteen years old and had also been beaten by his father and Mr. McCarthy. He was currently suffering from a major concussion, several broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, a couple broken fingers, a broken nose, a compound fracture in his arm, a damaged windpipe, and some internal bleeding. "Combined with his medical history and current fragile state," Dr. Salvador stated, "he's in a dangerous zone right now." It had been two days since the incident, and he was still unconscious. The doctors moved Sam into Dean's hospital room because they kept discovering him leaving his room, and he tried to attack anyone who tried to stop him. So they set up a bed for him in Dean's room, but he never used it. He only ever slept in Dean's bed, curled up against his brother's side. When Lily checked on him that morning, his head rested on Dean's shoulder, and he was sleeping on his side (on his back was far too painful). One heavily bandaged hand rested on Dean's chest, and his other arm was looped around Dean's. She'd never seen brothers who were so close.

Castiel had been shot in the stomach and was dangerously close to death when they found him. The bullet had punctured a lung and the stomach. His concussion was far more severe than the others; he had internal brain bleeding and a minor skull fracture when he was admitted, but they couldn't operate on it until his gunshot wound had been fixed. Lily personally pulled the bullet out of him. He had woken up a couple times, but he'd been bleary and barely comprehensible.

On the fourth day, Cas woke up when Dr. Salvador came in to check on him. He coughed once and blinked at her. "Where…" he croaked, and she shushed him.

"Blink twice if you can understand me," she said softly. He did as he was told. She checked his vitals, and shined a flashlight in both eyes to check for pupil response and brain activity. "You seem good. You feel like talking?"

He nodded. "Where's…" he wheezed. "Dean…"

"He's in the room right next door, sweetheart."

His eyes traveled to the left and focused vaguely on the wall as though he could see Dean through it. "Can I…see…"

"Not today." She tapped the bag of fluids beside him, adding a painkiller to it. "When you're stronger."

"My…chest…"

"It hurts?"

He nodded and immediately winced. "And…my…head…"

"It'll hurt for a while, sweetheart. I'm giving you something for it, so it should get a little better, okay? Just blink for yes."

He blinked.

"Does it hurt too much to talk?"

He blinked again, lethargically.

As Lily adjusted the needle inserted at his wrist, she realized that the boy had been moving his fingers the entire time, making strange motions and symbols with them. It was strange… Lily didn't think he was deaf, but the odd movements seemed like sign language.

Some of the police tried to make Sam speak about the incident, but he didn't speak at all. He only stayed with his brother, refusing to let anyone touch him except for Lily herself, and only if someone else he knew was there, like Sonny or Amina. Jaime often visited the younger Winchester as well; they seemed like good friends. Jaime frequently played card games and board games with Sam, and a nurse named Harry would play for Sam when hand movements were necessary. Sam especially loved playing Scrabble; he could beat almost every nurse in the hospital.

On the seventh day, Dean finally woke up without any medical disruptions, and Lily Salvador brought Castiel to the Winchesters in a wheelchair and an oxygen mask. After Lily checked his vitals, she allowed them some personal time. Dean raised a weak hand and stroked Sam's soft hair; Cas noticed immediately that although Dean was physically weaker now, his eyes were full of that brightness he had when Sam was there. Sam slept on Dean's chest, breathing softly and rasping a little.

At first, Dean was sleeping, too, so Cas sat quietly beside him, watching him. Although his sleep was not undisturbed, it was calmer than Cas had seen in a long time. When Dean woke up, blinking wearily, he saw Castiel. He barely moved his head, but he turned towards his boyfriend.

Cas was too tired to speak out loud, and Dean wasn't physically able to talk, so they signed. YOU OKAY, DEAN?

Dean's signing was difficult to understand because of the cast on his left arm, but Cas was familiar with his tone and could generally understand him. OKAY ME. YOU?

OKAY. Cas adjusted his oxygen mask. AND SAM?

HE OKAY. Dean's eyes trailed off to his little brother. SIR HURT SAM.

I KNOW.

NO… SIR HURT SAM LIKE ME. BACK. He tapped his own shoulder. HAS SCARS NOW. LIKE ME.

Cas placed his hand over Dean's, and for the first time in months, Dean didn't flinch or cower. Instead, he started to cry. KILLED SIR YOU… KILL.

I'M SORRY. YES, I DID.

Dean shook his head. NO, CAS. Cas always loved Dean's sign name for him; instead of fingerspelling his name, he had created a new sign like he had for Sam. It was a combination of the sign for ANGEL and the letter C. NO SORRY YOU. YOU KILL… NICEST THING. NICEST THING EVER, CAS. He cried harder. I NO-SCARED ANYMORE. NO OF SIR. I LOVE YOU.

I LOVE YOU, TOO, Cas replied. Their fingers interlaced. YOU GONE LONG TIME, DEAN.

I KNOW. SORRY.

I MISSED YOU.

Dean stared at Cas' hand. I MISSED YOU, TOO.

Cas always went back to his own room in the end, knowing that if he was there all the time that Dean would try to stay awake to sign with him. He visited as often as he could, though.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading!**


	42. Sam, Interrupted

**Fanfiction Writing Month: December [1530]**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

After about two weeks in the hospital, Cas was free to go. Dean still had to stay, and obviously, Sam stayed with him. So Amina stayed at Melisende's home so she could keep an eye on them.

Dean and Sam were now so intensely codependent that they could never stop touching one another. When Dean had to have an emergency surgery, Sam screamed and screamed and cried; he threw himself against the wall, thrashing and kicking and punching until they allowed him to be in the room with his brother. He held Dean's hand the entire time, falling asleep against the operating table. Sam's hands… The swelling had gone down, and he could use his left hand a little, barely able to move it. The right hand was still a mess of broken bones and torn ligaments; Dr. Salvador didn't think that he would ever be able to use his pinky and ring finger again.

Eventually, the boys came home, although Dean still had a thick cast on one arm and generally traveled in a wheelchair if he was going long distances. Sam also couldn't use his right hand, and Castiel slept for much longer than usual, going to bed at 8 and waking up at 9 most times.

Everyone at Sonny's was ecstatic that Dean seemed somewhat normal. He ate (although now began to check again if the food was poisoned) and slept through the night, only waking up two or three times due to his nightmares. He didn't want to be touched by anyone other than Sam. Well, he allowed Castiel to hold his hand, and sometimes hug him, but any other touches sent him into a terrified state. Dean only ever wanted Sam to touch him; actually, he never stopped touching Sam. He needed to know Sam was physically there at all times, so he physically held his hand or put an arm around him.

Their recovery was a painstakingly slow process, but eventually it got better. They tossed the wheelchair into the attic, and the boys' stack of medication in the bathroom cabinet dwindled to only pain medication, Dean's antibiotics, and sleeping pills.

It was easier for them to build a safe place for Sam and Dean Winchester, but only slightly. Luckily, they were out of school, but it was almost time for it to start. August was not a good month for either of them. Sam, when frustrated with his crippled hands, would kick and shove and scream, but when Sonny or Amina tried to come closer to help him, he would start crying and pleading for his father not to hurt him. Also, the lawyers and police continued to press into the boys' life, wanting answers about what had happened. Needless to say, Dean and Sam could not talk about what happened, even through sign. Jaime told them everything he knew, but it was not enough. Castiel only remembered waking to see Dean in pain and John raising a belt to Sam.

Fortunately, the boys didn't have to attend the actual trial; Lee McCarthy, John's accomplice, was arrested and sentenced three life sentences in prison for attempted murder, child abduction, kidnapping, torture, false imprisonment, illegal possession of firearms, use of firearm to resist arrest, administering chloroform, wounding with the intent to cause grievous bodily harm, and cruelty to persons under sixteen. It didn't look like he'd be getting out unless in a coffin.

They also didn't attend John's funeral; when Sonny mentioned it to them, Dean shut down and Sam hyperventilated until he passed out.

The Winchesters didn't start school again until January; Sonny's boys came and went, all except Dean, Sam, Cas, Jaime, and Andy. Each of them had nowhere to go and were unlikely candidates for adoption due to their age. In November, when they were considering sending the boys back to school, Sonny overheard a conversation he never expected to hear: Sam and Dean _fighting_. Sonny had already spoken to them about the possibility; Sam was ready, and Dean was not.

Shockingly, their conversation was almost entirely in English. Dean was at the piano; he usually went there if he'd had a difficult dream or flashback. Sam approached his brother. "Dean?"

Dean no longer needed constant physical reassurance of his brother's whereabouts. He continued to play, slipping into something melodic and peaceful. "Yeah, kiddo?"

"You remember what Sonny said...about going back to school?" Sam's feet moved of their own mind, pacing and stepping anxiously.

"Yeah?"

"Well...I was thinking...maybe we could."

Dean's answer was quick and simple. "No."

Sam stopped shuffling. "Wh-what?"

"You heard me, Sammy. No."

Sam cleared his throat. "Listen, Dean, if I could just—"

"No."

"Dean—"

"No."

"Dean, could you stop playing for just one second and look at me?"

Dean spun around on the piano bench, his fingers itching to return to the keys. "Fine." He signed NO, quickly and with obvious anger. "I said no."

"But Dean—"

"No means no, Sammy! How many times do I have to say it for you to understand? We're not going back there!"

Sam had prepared several counter-arguments for this conversation. "Dean, what are we going to do here? Sit around the house all day?"

"Kathy can tutor us, Sam."

"Not forever! She doesn't know everything. Sure, in English and history, but what about science and math? _Et non doceb it nos usque in sempiternum!_ " _She can't teach us forever!_

" _Scis_ , Sammy!" _I know, Sammy!_ Dean was growing more anxious by the minute. "But for now, we're staying here, do you understand me? _I non dimittam te_ , Sam! _Non possum, non_..." _I won't let you, Sam! I can't, I can't…_

"Dean, there's nothing to be afraid of! It's just school, it's just—"

"It's dangerous, Sammy. I have to protect you, got it? So I say we're not going back."

Sam frowned. "There's nothing dangerous there, Dean. It's not like before. With Dad—"

Dean's body language changed drastically at the word. " _Nee illi_." It was one of Dean's more common Latin phrases: _don't call him that_.

"Sorry. With him, it was different, I know, but here it's safe. Sonny will keep us safe; Cas will be there. I don't understand what you're so afraid of! We went before, and then it was fine." Dean's gaze darkened. "What's wrong with you?"

"Do you remember anything about your time with Sir?" Dean said, his voice low. "Don't you remember what he said about Mr. Lee?"

"The big guy?"

"Yeah."

"No, Dean." / I remember him hurting me and not much else."

Dean's fists tightened. "He worked at the school, Sammy. He'd been watching us for weeks. Weeks! He saw Cas and me, he saw you…"

"That's over now, though. It's been over, Dean! We're _safe_ now! Lee's in prison, Dad—"

"I told you _not to call him that_!"

Suddenly, Sam snapped. "Dean, Dad's _dead_! You can go ahead and say it as many times as you want! You don't have to call him 'sir' anymore! He's gone!" Dean tried to interrupt him, but Sam continued, undeterred. "There's no more boot camp, Dean, and no more being afraid that he'll come and take us away! We're gonna be okay!"

"Have you forgotten what he did to you, Sammy? Those scars will _never_ fade!"

"The scars show I've survived, Dean! Dad is dead, and he can't hurt us anymore!"

Dean pushed the sheet music off of the piano, upset. "I have to _protect_ you, Sam! This isn't just about him! When he took you away, I _lost_ you! I couldn't—I couldn't—" His voice broke. "I have to protect you! From them, okay? From every monster, every person outside of this house—"

Sam was angry now. "I'm not four years old anymore, Dean! I'm not a kid anymore!"

"You—"

"I'm twelve years old, Dean, and you can't keep me inside this house forever! You act like I'm gonna trip and fall onto a knife or something; you walk around me like I'm made of glass, but _bene sum_! I know you're scared after what happened with Dad, but it's over now! It's over!"

 _Bene sum_ meant _I'm fine_ , but the words only seemed to make Dean more panicked for his brother's wellbeing. "Sam, it's not that simple—"

"Of course it's simple, Dean! The danger's gone—"

"The danger's _gone_? Are you listening to yourself? You sound like some of the civilians we worked with, Sam! There's danger everywhere, around every single friggin' corner, and you say it's _fine_? There are still the… the… monsters of the world just waiting for you to take a wrong turn, Sammy! It's _never_ safe!"

"Don't you think I know that? I'm not an idiot, Dean! I know exactly how to get rid of monsters and how to take care of myself. You're treating me like a little _kid_!"

"You _are_ a little kid, Sammy!"

Sam raged. "No, I'm _not_! And you're not my parent, so quit _acting like it_!"

Dean stopped; his angry hands fell to his sides. He looked, dumbfounded, at his little brother.

Sam suddenly felt a rush of guilt flood his chest; "Wait," he said, but Dean was already leaving the room. "Dean, wait!"

Then Dean started to run.


	43. Lost and Found

**Fanfiction Writing Month: December [622]**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Dean ran through the house, past Sonny and Amina and Kathy and Rosa and out into the field. There were these little paths in the middle of the fields, guarded by tall stalks of plants and corn, and that's where he ran. He sprinted past everything as though Sir were on his tail screaming at him to run or he'd break his legs for him. He ran like Dr. Maddela was at his heels. He ran until his legs ached and his lungs burned and he could feel bile rising in his throat. He tripped on a patch of uneven ground and fell hard, tumbling over rough, stony patches of ground; before he could get up, he vomited, over and over, onto the ground, heaving until there was nothing left. Then he scrambled to his feet and ran again.

Sam ran into Amina's room, where she was talking to her girlfriend on the phone. "Amina," he gasped, and she stood. He was so distraught that he spoke in Latin without even realizing it. " _Erraverim._ " _I made a mistake._

"Hold on, Mel, I'll call you right back." She hung up the phone, turned to Sam, and frowned. "What kind of mistake?"

Sam looked at her, helpless. " _Errat fraternus._ " _A mistake with my brother._

When Cas came home from school, they still hadn't found Dean, and Sam was in tears, frantic with worry. "I didn't mean it," he said. His arms were wrapped around himself, and Kathy rubbed his back comfortingly. "I-I swear—I just—I just wanted him to listen, that's all, I…"

"It's okay, Sam," Sonny said. "We'll find him." They'd alerted the police but warned them not to approach Dean; they received a call almost two hours after Dean's disappearance about his location. Sonny, accompanied by Sam, Amina, and Cas, drove to the spot. Dean had run almost ten miles away from Sonny's, and when they found him, he was soaked in sweat and shaking. Leaned against a tree, Dean held his head in his hands, muttering to himself in a raspy voice.

"Dean!" Sam cried, rushing forward.

"Sam!" Dean's voice was merely a croak, reminding Amina of his voice when Sam was gone. "Sam, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

"Don't, Dean." Sam hugged him tightly, careful not to hurt him. "I was being stupid and selfish and I didn't mean what I said, okay? You're my brother, and you're also my mother and my father. You've raised me, and I couldn't ask for anyone better." Dean cried, embracing his baby brother. "You've taken care of me for as long as I can remember, and you've protected me no matter what happens to you." Sam was crying, too, now. "I don't care what we do, Dean, as long as you're happy. You've gone through so much bad for me, and I want to make it up to you. You're the best parent I could ever ask for."

Dean sobbed into his brother's arms, clutching his shirt.

That same day, once they were home, Dean told Sam that he could go back to school after Christmas break. I UNDERSTAND, he said. WAS TOO P-R-O-T-E-C-T-I-V-E. I'M SORRY, SAMMY.

"It's okay, Dean. Really." Sam hugged him. "If you don't want us to go back to school, then it's fine."

He shook his head. I WANT YOU HAPPY, he said. I NOT WANT YOU HURT, SAMMY. BUT IF YOU WANT SCHOOL, OKAY. IS OKAY. I SCARED, BUT I WILL… He stopped. "I'll have to get used to it," he whispered. "I can't shelter you forever."

Sam smiled. "You've done a great job protecting me so far, Dean," he said. "Now it's my turn to protect myself a little."

It wasn't perfect, but it was good.

* * *

 **A/N: I know, I know, this chapter was unbearably short, but I just needed a resolution for the last one. I'll post the next one soon.**


	44. About A Boy

**A/N: Next chap, coming on up.**

 **Fanfiction Writing Month: December [818]**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Cas woke up with a start, his mind reeling with fear. Unlike Sam and Dean, when he had nightmares, he remained silent and still; when he woke up, he was quiet and frozen. Now, he was shaking slightly.

It was early, around one in the morning. After checking on his boyfriend and Sam, he went downstairs and sat at the island. He was careful to be quiet; he didn't want to wake anyone else up. He made himself a cup of coffee and drank it quietly, trying to calm himself. He could still feel the cold fingers of his dream on his shoulders—

"Cas?"

Castiel nearly jumped out of his skin; he spilled his coffee in the process. "Oh, God—sorry—" He grabbed a towel and started wiping it up. "I—sorry—I hope I didn't wake you—I was just—"

Dean shook his head timidly, taking the towel from Cas. " _Liceat me_ ," he said gently. _Allow me._ "No nightmares… I just woke up and noticed your bed was empty." Dean cleaned up the coffee in seconds. "Why were you awake?"

Cas shrugged. "Just woke up early, I guess."

Dean began to wash out the towel in the sink. "Please don't lie to me, Cas." His voice was quiet, but his tone was firm. "I can see your hands shaking, and I doubt it's from the coffee."

Cas stared at his hands and tried to will them to stop.

"Cas…" Dean took his hands. "Talk to me."

"It's nothing, Dean," he said. "Really. Just stuff from before I got here… A bad dream, that's all."

"Well, then tell me about it," Dean said. "You're always there for me when I have a nightmare; I want to do the same for you."

"It's not the same—"

"Yes, it is. Here." Dean handed Cas a fresh cup of coffee. "Talk."

He sighed. "Dean, I don't want to scare you…"

SCARY STORY FINE, he answered. I OKAY.

Finally, after several stern looks, Cas told him. "I came to Sonny when I was nine. When I was seven, I lived in Illinois with my parents and my grandpa and my sister." He spun his mug slowly on the table. "Her name was Hannah, and she was three years older than me. I loved her so much; I'd do anything for her. A couple months before I came here, my mom… She started acting kinda funny. She'd stay up all night, talking to herself, she'd forget ordinary things, she'd come home with…" He gulped. "Blood on her hands…" He downed his coffee before continuing. "A couple weeks later, she…"

Dean kissed Cas' hand.

He bit his lip and continued. "She came home and… She started saying all these crazy things. She wasn't herself. She didn't even know her own name, and her eyes…" He shook his head, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "She went crazy. She had this strange knife in her hands, and when she smiled… She killed Hannah and my dad… Cut them to pieces… Grandpa and I managed to get away, but… He lost his arm that day; he barely survived. They took him to a senior home for psych cases after that because he couldn't recover. I ran away, and eventually ended up in foster care. I bounced around for a couple years, but none of the families wanted to keep me because I always ran away. Eventually, I came to Sonny's when they were sick of my running."

Dean was on Cas' side of the table then, and he hugged him tightly. "I'm sorry for what happened to your family," he said. "I understand, and I'm sorry."

Cas kissed Dean, gently. "It was a long time ago," he told him. "I used to get a lot of nightmares, you know? Not as bad as you, but… A lot. After the first year, they started to go away, but I still got them every now and then. Now… Every few months, I get a bad one, but usually I'm okay if I just come downstairs and sit alone for a while."

"That's why you're drinking coffee, then?" Dean asked. "So you don't have to go back to sleep?"

He nodded. "If I sleep again on the same night… The dream always comes back."

They sat for a while, holding each other, taking comfort in the presence of each other. "Her eyes," Dean said suddenly, his back straightening.

"What?"

"Your mom… You said something about her eyes."

Cas shrugged. "Nevermind. It doesn't matter."

Dean gave him a look.

"Dean, I was seven and probably had an active imagination. It's nothing." When it was clear that the other boy would not let it go, he said, "Fine. When...everything happened, I thought I saw… Her eyes were black."

Dean wanted to crawl back into bed and hide beneath the covers, but instead he said, "You weren't imagining that, Cas." And then he explained everything.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading!**


	45. Stuck In The Middle (With You)

**A/N: Just a continuation of the last scene.**

 **Fanfiction Writing Month: December [1831]**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

It was three in the morning then, and they were lying on the couch together, talking quietly. "So your dad… He became a hunter because of what happened to your mom?"

Dean nodded.

"And… He thought it was a demon?"

He nodded again.

"And did you ever find it?"

He traced a line down Cas' bare chest. "No. Sometimes I wonder if it was ever even a demon at all."

"But all the monsters you mentioned...they do exist?"

"Yes."

"And that's what happened to my mom?"

"Yes. It was a demon possession. There was nothing you or she could have done about it. They're very aggressive and take pleasure in violence."

Cas closed his eyes for a moment. "And all of your scars… They came from those monsters? From hunting them?"

He hesitated. "Not all of them." He sat up and looked down at his hands. "Some came from Sir."

"John," said Cas, sliding up to lean on the arm of the couch.

"What?"

"You don't have to call him that anymore, Dean. He doesn't deserve that title. Call him by his name. Call him whatever you want, really. He doesn't deserve any respect at all."

Dean whispered, "Some of them came from...John." They kissed for a while, until Cas touched Dean's shirt collar, starting to unbutton, and he flinched so harshly that he had to pull away. "Sorry."

"It's okay, Dean," he said. "There's no need to be sorry. It's not your fault."

He shook his head. "I just… Maybe we can turn the lights off?"

Castiel tilted his head at Dean. "Dean, I love you as you are. I love all that you are. Including your scars."

"But… Cas, I think it would just be better if we turned the lights off. I mean, you've never seen… I never… I just…"

Cas held Dean by the shoulders. "I won't do anything you don't want to do, Dean."

"No, I want to," Dean began, "but I just want to take it slow, okay?"

"Okay." Cas squinted at Dean as if trying to read his mind. "Here. Let me try something." He showed his boyfriend the inside of his arm, where there was a dark slice of a scar. "That's where my mom tried to take off my hand when… When everything happened." He pointed to another one on his neck. "This one came from a seatbelt when I was eight; one of my foster parents was driving me to choir practice and another car came out of nowhere. Everyone was fine, but the seatbelt cut real deep." He pointed to the smooth line on his cheekbone. "And that one came from you a couple years ago when you had a nightmare and a knife at the same time."

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't be. You can't control what you do when you're asleep, and I wouldn't expect you to." Cas looked up at him. "You want to tell me about one?"

Dean didn't say anything for a few seconds and then held up his hand. "When I was six, there was a demon in Southern California that liked fingers and toes. He took some of mine before...John could exorcise it." Cas took Dean's hand and kissed the spot where his missing flesh should have been, doing the next hand as well. He traced a scar across Dean's palm, his action a silent question. "When you make certain...rituals, certain warding, to protect yourself from monsters, you have to use blood to write it or need blood to make it. The hand's the easiest place, usually." Cas moved to the dozens of curves lines marring the backs of his hands. "Sir—John would punish me sometimes… He'd use the belt buckle on my hands, because it hurt the most, and because you have to look at it every day." Dean's empty stare was frightening. "So every time I got up in the morning, any time I did anything, I'd be reminded of what I did wrong." Dean told him about the scars on his hands and face and neck, all of his exposed skin, until finally Dean's fingers were on his top shirt button. He unbuttoned until his chest was visible; Cas could see some of his worst scars there. "A vampire gave me that one," he said, as Cas' hands traced a bite scar. "Most of the bites came from her and her…" He closed his eyes for a moment. "She… She kept me in her basement as a blood bag for about a week. She and her friends took so much blood from me that I didn't wake up until two days later." Cas found a small, puckered gunshot scar. "That's courtesy of this one lunatic. We thought he was a demon at first, but turns out he was just a psycho. He shot me three times and broke my ankle, too." At the claw marks, Dean shivered. "A couple werewolves," he whispered, "and some other monsters gave me those. It's really hard to run away from something that's hell-bent on ripping your heart out and built to kill." Cas touched an odd brand on Dean's shoulder, and he had to stop and close his eyes. When he opened them, they were filled with tears. "A ghost… Crazy guy in Rhode Island… Decided to give me his mark after he had me for a few hours. Strapped me down to a table, heated up a metal stamp, and gave me five brands." He pointed to each in turn.

Finally, they reached Dean's back, which was covered in scars from whips and belts. Dean slumped in shame, wrapping his arms around himself. Cas kissed him and whispered words of comfort, and soon Dean relented. "I don't even know what it looks like," he confessed. "I never wanted to look at it… I… I never…" He didn't mean to, but soon he was crying.

Cas shushed him, taking his face in his hands and kissing him. "It's not your fault, Dean," he consoled.

Dean pushed him away. "N-no, Cas, you don't understand. It _is_ m-my fault. I-I—" He curled in on himself, and Cas could see that he was trying to escape into his mind, blinking and shaking his head.

"Dean, I'm here, I'm here. You have nothing to be ashamed of, okay?"

Finally, after composing himself, Dean hiccuped and spoke quietly. "The first time I lost Sam," he said, "I was eight. Sam was four. It was late, Sir was at a bar, and Sam was crying because he was hungry. I didn't want to let him go hungry, because he had a little cold and I didn't want him to get any sicker. So I told him to stay in bed, and I went to the vending machine on the second floor to get some food. When I came back, he was _gone_. I looked _everywhere_ for him, b-but I couldn't find him.

"When John came back that night, he was" —Dean gulped— "pretty drunk. It wasn't a surprise or anything, but this time there was something for him to be angry about, so I was scared out of my mind. He got back and asked me where Sam was. I told him I didn't know, and I was ready for him to punish me then, but he didn't do _anything_. He just stared at me for a long time and then said, 'Okay.' He went to bed, and I d-didn't know what to do. So I went looking for Sam again, but I couldn't find him. John went hunting again the next day, so I looked for Sam more. On the third day, we found out a family had picked him up and taken care of him because he couldn't remember where we lived. Because we move around so much. We got him home, and still John didn't punish me.

"Then, about a week later, he dragged me out of bed in the middle of the night, beat me until I got into position, and then he punished me." He stared at his hands. "That was the first time he used the belt on my...back. That's when I got a lot of these scars. It was b-be-because I lost Sam."

Castiel suddenly understood why losing Sam had been so mentally devastating to Dean; when he was without his little brother, he was not only afraid for the safety of his little brother, but also for his father's foreboding punishment. "Oh… Dean…"

Dean's head hung low with shame.

"Dean, that's not your fault," Cas said quietly. He touched Dean's face. "It's not your fault."

Again, Dean shook his head, crying. "The third time I lost Sam, Sir—John beat me, real bad, and then took me on a hunt, away from Sam. I was still injured, and I… I couldn't _do_ anything without hurting. When he—" He shuddered, goosebumps erupting all over his skin. When he spoke again, it was so quiet that Cas could barely hear him. "When the ghost… When he caught up to me, I couldn't fight back; I could barely aim my shotgun. He took me back to his basement and he… He…" His eyes glistened with terror. "He kept me down there for a week… Gave me" —he touched his back, his fingertips brushing against the ridges there— "these. It hurt like nothing I'd ever felt before, Cas. I thought… I'd never… I wanted to die, it hurt so much. I don't…" Cas kissed his cheek and held him close, shushing him. "When Sir finally came back for me," Dean whispered finally, "he took me to the hospital. I woke up there, and he… He was so disappointed. He said… He said, 'You should know better than to let your guard down, Dean.' He told me that he hoped I'd learned my lesson. He didn't let me stay with Sam as much, then. I had to teach Sam how to shoot, how to take care of himself, in case anything happened. And I had to make double sure that when I went on a hunt, I killed the thing so it couldn't come after Sam. And so Sir wouldn't come after Sam."

"Dean," said Cas. "He never should have put this much weight on you, do you understand? He made you an adult when you still should have been learning to read. It's wasn't fair that he did this to you. Any of it. He should never have hurt you, and he never should have put you in those dangerous situations. None of this will ever, _ever_ be your fault, okay?" Dean stared emptily at Cas' chest. "Dean, listen. Do you blame me for what happened with my mom?"

Finally, Dean met his boyfriend's eyes, confused. "Of course not. Why would I—"

"It's the same thing, Dean." Cas took Dean's hands. "It's the exact same thing."

When Sonny and Kathy came downstairs that morning, they found Cas and Dean on the couch together, fast asleep and holding each other.

* * *

 **A/N: Just so you guys know, it might be a while till the next chapter, but I'll definitely be writing more. Thanks so much to everyone who made it this far!**


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